


Lily and Ash

by AegrosDescending



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: But I tried to stay lore friendly, F/F, F/M, Gen, Mild/moderate game deviation, Multi, Some OOC
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-01-01 09:01:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 42,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18332855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AegrosDescending/pseuds/AegrosDescending
Summary: Vilkas believes his promise to Kodlak is the right one, until he catches a new scent on the wind. The thrill of hunting her makes him question his decision-will she prove to be everything he needs, or tear his mind apart?Ara was a dutiful guardian, the embodiment of the wrath of a goddess. Bound human, she gave her life to save a troubled chieftain of a tribe at war, and thought she would return to her goddess once her task was complete. But the Divines are fickle, and daedra just love to mess up a plan. Can she figure out a new purpose in life, or will being the savior humanity needs claim it once more?This plays off of the idea of the Skyrim Alternate Start mod, with Ara ending up as Dovahkiin eventually. Will also loosely follow various questlines eventually, though not in any particular order. Expect some NPCs OOC.Rated E for explicit adult themes/scenes later, with potential rape/non-con/dubcon, noted at beginning of chapters if contained.You know the drill, Bethesda owns Skyrim, etc etc. Protagonist/OC's are my own.





	1. A New Scent

**Author's Note:**

> For the purposes of this story, I have assumed that encampments/cities/etc. are larger and more populated, and thus, some elements will not be strictly canon. I have taken other...liberties as well, though have tried to remain faithful to the fantasy-world spirit of the game. Please enjoy, and bear with me!

He stood deathly still, dark fur gleaming in the pale light as he watched the man pace back and forth across the wooden construct. His ears twitched. He could hear the man’s boots scraping along the old, dry wood, could hear the slight groan of the weathered boards as they bore the weight of the bandit sentry and his pacing. He heard the deep, reverberating rumbles of the mammoths that grazed over the next ridge, and the heavy, thudding steps of their giant shepherds; he heard the skitter of the fox and her kits as they chased lemmings, and the squeal of predator catching prey. He could smell the metal in the air as the veins in the mine were cracked open, and the mead the sentry swilled, and the wench he’d bedded hours before, though she was long gone.

Vilkas flexed his paws, his nails scraping into the soft earth almost noiselessly, and conflict rising within him momentarily as he both loved and hated himself in that instant. Crouching there on the prairie, silently stalking oblivious prey, and hearing and smelling and feeling the world around him so _alive,_ he couldn’t be sure that this blood was the curse his Harbinger depicted. His low growl was barely a rumble in his chest as he shook his head, the movement flowing down his body in an unrefined shudder that sent his fur flying back and forth. But he felt a measure of the tension lift. No, being a wolf could not be the horrific bane Kodlak insisted it was, not when it enabled him to be so much more than he already was.

There was no question in Vilkas’ mind that there _was_ a curse within him, he constantly felt the ebb and pull of the abeyant strain within him, he also knew that it was his decision to embrace _this_ part of his blood that kept the _true_ curse sufficiently sated. Dormant. He knew that to forego his transformations, resist his blood altogether, only made the clock wind down faster, bringing the nightmare he was harboring closer to the surface.

His brother moved silently, stopping next to him in the long grass, and Vilkas felt himself smile inwardly. Dark, tawny brown fur that seemed to melt into their surroundings rippled over Farkas’ powerful frame as he stood silently at the ready, muscles coiled, trembling imperceptibly as he waited for Vilkas’ signal. His eyes were a stormy silver and burned with intensity as he, too, watched the sentry absently patrolling.  Outwardly, his brother was every bit his twin, and he knew his own reflection would show the same steely gray eyes and shaggy brown fur. The same lean, powerful body. A body meant for hunting and stalking. A body meant for killing. And they were both good at killing. It was a trait they shared outside of their wolf forms as well, one of the few mental and emotional traits they had in common; that list was short.

Vilkas gave a short growl, stalking forward alongside his brother. The fence surrounding the camp was incomplete in two places, the bones hanging from the ropes that stretched across the gaps providing little concern as they separated. Farkas melted into the shadows beneath the wall as he trailed it around to the far side of the camp and Vilkas gave a short, easy hop over the feeble alarm, his sharp eyes taking in his surroundings as he melted into his own shadows. _One, two, three, four…_ he counted off the camp’s inhabitants that were outside the mine, one by one, as his sharp eyes spotted them, oblivious to his gaze. He felt a shiver of anticipation as he watched a woman rise from behind a mammoth carcass. A soft grunt and scraping of metal on dirt tickled his ear, and Vilkas didn’t need to see it to know that Farkas had taken down the archer near the mine’s entrance. Another thud, accompanied this time by a squelched yelp, and Vilkas launched himself forward.

* * *

 _Twelve,_ Vilkas repeated the count in his head as the cool water of the stream washed the blood and dirt and mineral dust from his fur. There had been twelve poachers, not eight, as the contract had indicated, and there had been no mention of the damned mage either. He would have a word with the steward about that as soon as they got back. A low grunt brought his attention to his brother, a growl forming in his throat as he watched Farkas attempting to nurse the burn on his shoulder.

Farkas had surprised the mage, and the resulting spell had been errant and unfocused, glancing his shoulder instead of exploding in his face, for which Vilkas was grateful. The burn was not too serious and would be healed easily with Farkas’ wolf blood, but only when he shifted. Until then, it would be troublesome and painful, though Vilkas knew Farkas would never show it.

The acrid smell of burnt hair filled his nose as he plodded over, nudging his brother with his muzzle in a rare show of affection whilst simultaneously urging him to quit fussing at it. Vilkas could see Dragonsreach towering over Whiterun in the far distance; they would make it back to the safety of the Underforge well before even the earliest-rising farmers emerged to tend their crops, and even with Farkas’ injury impeding their pace. Farkas huffed himself up and started for the city at Vilkas’ unspoken insistence, and if Vilkas hadn’t been looking for it, he wouldn’t have noticed his brother favoring his front left leg at all as he started after him.

Their pace was easy, leaving Vilkas extra time to simmer in his own thoughts. Clear this cave, hunt down that dangerous animal, drive away the giant, stop these poachers…Vilkas was growing weary of the Jarl and his little requests. Coin was coin, but he all but growled in frustration. The Companions were worthy of better contracts, surely. He inhaled deeply, pushing the thoughts from his mind as the wind carried the scents of the night to him; he was intimately familiar with Whiterun Hold, knew the smell of every one of its inhabitants, from every nook and cranny. But tonight, the wind held an undercurrent unknown to him, and he stopped, deathly still once more as he pulled the scent into him.

Beneath the woodsmoke and mead of Whiterun, beneath the musk of the giants and their mammoths, carried within the dust and grass of the plain, was the scent of a wolf. A female one. Every hair on Vilkas’ body stood on end; she wasn’t a plains wolf. No, this wolf was like him, blood bound to the Huntsman Prince. He chuffed at his brother, but Farkas had picked it up too and was already stopped and alert ahead of him, waiting for his signal. Vilkas growled, the order unspoken; his brother needed to return to Jorrvaskr and tend his shoulder. And besides, _he_ was the alpha, new wolves were his responsibility – one which he would relish this time. _Eyes on the prey._ Vilkas growled as he took to a sprint and followed the scent away from the city.

* * *

The moons had long passed their zenith when Vilkas’ claws rolled the dead man over. Four deep, circular punctures, balanced two and two on either side of his throat, were distinctly visible. His windpipe had been crushed, his neck snapped, in a swift, merciful – by wolf standards – kill. He laid in a pool of his own blood. It seemed she had taken him by surprise, as little of the rest of the contents of the small sentry’s dome were disturbed, save for the toppled chair he no doubt had occupied. It had been the same with the first sentry Vilkas had encountered, also dead, near the stone wall that partially surrounded the camp. He surmised that the others would be dispatched in a similar manner and huffed dismissively as he glanced at the dead bandit once more before exiting.

But he paused, his growl fading as his ears and nose pricked and he took in the sight before him. What was once the campfire now burned across the surface of the stone at the base of the steps, its contents having been scattered across the landing. The stink of burned flesh caught in his throat, the bandit responsible laying amidst the flames, still burning, as another lay strewn across the steps leading to the apex of the camp. His throat was a mangled mash of tendon and bone, while yet another lay prone in a crimson pool below. Vilkas advanced slowly, the coagulating blood sticking to his paws as he skirted the bodies. So much blood, yet none of it hers, he knew. Her smell assaulted him from everywhere. It hung in the air like mist after a storm, coating the dead men and women like a lethal perfume, and intoxicating him as it mingled with the scent of their deaths.

A soft cry descended the stone steps and Vilkas froze, his ears twitching. Scrapes echoed softly within the domed barrow above him, all but imperceptible, even to him. He was silent on the cold stone as he ascended, moving to take the steps several at a time in his entrancement. But he stopped before the dual entrance; he knew each curved around, culminating together to grant entrance to the dome of the barrow, and he silently cursed the ancient Nords for building such ridiculous structures. She was still inside he was sure, and aware of his presence he was also sure, and he nearly growled in his frustrated anticipation. He could do nothing to stop her escaping out the other side as he veered to the right, and that irked him.

He kept to the wall as he silently padded through the structure, the charred scent of the forge overwhelming that of his quarry and her now departed victims as he peered around the stone into the dome. In the center of the space was a body, the familiar puncture marks indicating she’d met the same fate as her comrades. But there was no sign of her aggressor, no sign of the wolf he sought. Vilkas stepped slowly into the circular space of the barrow, every one of his muscles coiled tight and ready to react; he did not know this wolf, or her intentions, and that thought was both sobering and exhilarating. Life in Whiterun, in Jorrvaskr with his shield-brothers and sisters, was good, but rather repetitive and stale lately. This new wolf brought an excitement he wasn’t aware he’d wanted, he just needed to figure out what _kind_ of excitement it was.

His nose touched the soft, broken tissue of the bandit’s neck, savoring the intoxicating scent of his prey as it filled his lungs again. But he felt his ear twitch backward as the hair on the back of his neck stood on end, and he froze once more, allowing his heightened senses and instinct to absorb the seemingly dead silence around him. He glanced behind him. Nothing. He growled in his chest, frustrated all over at her disappearance, and again cursing the dual entries the Nords of old were obsessed with. But a slight scrape twinged in his ear again and he spun around, suddenly unsatisfied at the apparent ‘nothing’ before him. He stalked forward. Another scrape, directly in front of him, coming from the stone … _casket?_ The bandits had removed the lid, leaning it upright against the side of the heavy stone base, exposing the interred relics.

 _Probably a fox, pilfering the remains._ He growled tentatively in his throat again.

But this time his growl was met with another as a quick flash of fur saw the stone lid toppling from its upright position, catching his haunch as he dashed aside. _Damnit!_ She’d hid from him in the sarcophagus! His growl was angry and full-throated this time as he whipped around, catching a brief glimpse of her tail as she darted around and out of the barrow. He responded in kind, the scrape of his claws on the stone echoing as he scrambled out after her.

He leapt down the stone steps, halting on the first landing and straining for any hint of that which he chased. Her scent still filled his senses, everywhere all around him, leaving him blind to her trail, the only sounds in his ears the familiar ones of the hold.

She was gone.


	2. Anxious to Transform

Vilkas woke to the familiar face of his brother, though it was all but foreign as the sleep ebbed slowly from his mind. He sat up, blinking the stupor from his eyes; he didn’t even remember coming home.

“I assume your hunt went well?” Farkas was sitting backwards in the nearby chair, chin resting on his crossed forearms as they draped across the back, and a wry smile playing at his lips as his eyebrow quirked at him. A bandage peeked out from beneath his thin shirt, though Farkas seemed unbothered by the stretch the position put on his shoulder.

Vilkas scowled. He didn’t remember much, and what he did, he didn’t really want to talk about. “It didn’t, as a matter of fact.” His pride felt the immediate sting of such an admission, and only served to deepen his scowl. It helped that Farkas seemed genuinely surprised by this information, his eyebrows shooting high on his forehead as he waited for an explanation, but Vilkas offered none as he swung his legs out of bed and leaned his elbows on his knees. He sighed heavily, rubbing his face in his hands.

He could only remember fragments of his transformations usually, a side effect of resisting part of the blood, Aela insisted, and last night was no different. He tried to make sense of the images that flashed through his mind, but it was no use. “She got away,” he said after a moment, scowling deeper when he recalled how she’d hid from him. The rest was just images of death and blood, feelings of anticipation and frustration pushing against him as he struggled to bring them to his consciousness.

“You don’t remember anything else?” Farkas’ comment was carefully neutral in its push, and he looked up tiredly at his brother. Farkas’ face held neither judgement or pity, and Vilkas just shook his head, relinquishing the memories to the depths of his unconscious as he sighed again. “We could go back out…” Farkas’ words were lost on him as he was blindsided.

It hit Vilkas so suddenly his head spun, and he swallowed hard as it burned into his senses, his lungs on fire as he resisted the urge to exhale, fearing to lose the memory of her scent. _Her scent_. He met his brother’s concern with little explanation. “Lily and ash.”

* * *

Vilkas’ heart raced as he paced, and he checked the sun for the hundredth time that hour. He pulled at the collar of his armor, readjusting the front plate. It felt tight, constricting on his chest, and he struggled to pull in a full breath. He would catch her tonight, he _needed_ to. It had been an unbearable four days since the last time he’d hunted her. He scowled, his chest tight as his brow knit in the effort it took push her scent from his thoughts. It had been nearly a month since Silent Moons Camp, since their little game began. Twenty seven days of lily and ash haunting him wherever he went. He clenched his hands. It was driving him mad.

He felt his wolf, restless, just beneath his consciousness. He would find her, had to, he was not done with her yet. Chestnut fur flashed in his mind, her growl ringing in his ears as clearly as if he’d just heard it. Vilkas checked the sun again. The horizon was vibrant with reds and oranges as the sun dipped, and her eyes, like liquid fire, rose in his mind. He’d never seen eyes such as hers before, and they haunted him as completely as her scent did. But a low rumble from the ominous gray mass to the east dragged him back from within his own mind, heralding the coming rain, and he growled in his throat. Irritated, he resumed pacing. Rain would only make her that much harder to catch.

It seemed like an eternity before the sun ebbed out, casting the training yard and plains below in long, soft shadows, and he slid quietly into the Underforge as Jorrvaskr came to life with merriment. He sighed as the door ground shut behind him. The air felt damp and cool against his fevered skin, and he swiftly unbuckled his wolf armor, letting it clatter to the ground as he stripped the stuffy cotton shirt over his head. He paused, leaning against the wall, relishing the sting of the cool stone against his skin before a pang of guilt washed over him. His Harbinger was like a father to him, and Vilkas both deeply respected and admired the man. He knew Kodlak wished for him to forego the transformations, and yet here he was, almost giddy with anticipation of his impending change. He cursed himself as he balled his shirt in his hands and buried his face in it in frustration.

But the phantom of her scent washed over him, and his stomach roiled as his wolf pushed against his conscious mind. _Lily and ash_. He doubled over as his spine cracked, scrambling to shed the last of his armor before he ruined it. He grit his teeth as his bones snapped and elongated, his muscles twisting beneath his flesh.

No. He would not be denied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first fic I'm posting here, and comments are welcome and greatly appreciated (though please be kind - it's my first :P)  
> Chapters should start getting longer now as well.


	3. A Curse Called Forth

Dust flared up around his muzzle as he pulled traces of her into himself. It had taken him longer than he cared to admit to pick up her trail, and relief had flooded over the tension he hadn’t realized was there when he finally caught it west of the city. He stayed low, skirting around the nearby house, pausing at the brightly lit windows; he didn’t know it was for sale, let alone who had moved in, and he moved quickly away. Her scent was frustratingly erratic, overcome time and again by the sharp, bitter scent of the various nightshade plants around the steading. He snorted, pushing the offending odor out of his nostrils, when a sudden gust carried the sound of a pained cry to him.

He darted into the wind, his heart thundering in his ears as it carried yet another cry, and her lovely scent, to him. He kept off of the road, careful to avoid the warm glow from the torches the guards carried as they patrolled, and making minute adjustments as his ears and nose twitched, ensuring he stayed true to his destination. He all but yelped in surprise when he splashed into the river that ran west from the city, he was so engrossed. The air was charged beneath the impending storm, the cool breeze mixing the grass and musk of the prairies with- _her_. He could smell her so strongly. She was close.

His nose had led him to the small cave across the river from Whiterun. _White River Watch._ It had been visited often by himself and his shield-siblings, for it did not take long for new groups of degenerates to occupy it after they cleared it out. It was a common contract for the Companions, and he knew its layout intimately. He smiled inwardly as he growled in eager anticipation. She could not outwit him this time, not when he knew every place she could run, every place she could hide. A part of him faltered at the thought. What would he do with her when he did catch her?

He padded softly up the winding path, keeping his body low in the shadows of the underbrush. The bitter taste of burnt hair met him as he ascended to the makeshift clearing, and he quickly spotted the body near the firepit. The bandit had died as he expected: a crushed windpipe and snapped neck. She had fallen so close to the flames that the fur on her armor had singed, and Vilkas ignored her body as he padded quietly by.

Another body was on the lookout ledge directly aside of the mouth of the cave, but Vilkas smelled no blood, saw no teeth marks. He inched closer, the scent of static making his nose twitch. _How_ – but a scrape from within drew his immediate attention and he slipped into the shadows after it. It took mere heartbeats for his eyes to adjust to the much darker interior, and he quickly spotted a man sitting in a chair directly adjacent him. He seemed oblivious, the book on his lap shut. _Maybe he’s sleeping?_ But the man jolted as thunder crashed outside, and the book tumbled to the ground.

Vilkas’ hackles raised in anticipation of the coming… _What?_ His head cocked to the side in confusion as the man stooped down, his hands wildly searching for the fallen book. _He’s blind_ , Vilkas realized. Which was why he could not see the magnificent creature right beside him.

She had come into his view as the man stooped after his book, but he had not seen her in his initial confusion of the man’s actions – much to the chagrin of his pride. She sat, hunched close to the ground near the table, staring at him as his attention snapped wholly to her. Her chestnut fur seemed to meld with the darkened wall behind her, her brilliant eyes burning into him as she watched him, and he seethed in vexation. She had haunted him for so long, a spectre filling his waking hours and plaguing his dreams, and she was now so tantalizingly close… yet still beyond his reach. _If the man alerts his comrades_ … Vilkas pushed the thought away.

His eyes and ears forward, his body at the ready, he watched her rise and silently pad through the narrow passage away from him. _Oh hell!_ Vilkas’ wolf was considerably larger than hers, and the mouth of the cave was not exactly spacious. His stomach roiled as he rose after her, painstakingly avoiding the clumsy sweeps of the man as he searched for his lost possession.

Vilkas glanced back once safely past, placing a heavy paw on a corner of the book and sliding it softly toward the man, before darting after her.

* * *

Vilkas groaned as the familiar grain of his wardrobe came into focus, and he realized he was awake. At home. He rolled to his back angrily, hissing as a sharp pain blossomed in his shoulder, and was distracted and unprepared when memories of the night’s events flooded his mind.

 

_He looked like he was asleep. His face slack, his body relaxed. Vilkas could almost believe that except for the white of his spine glinting at him from beneath the bloody mess she’d left of his throat. His chest tightened, a sweet heat building in the pit of his stomach as her scent, mingled with the marauder’s blood, washed over him. Some of her kills had become more gruesome over the weeks, and he wondered at the change in her behavior as he climbed the small path to the next room. What if he was the…_

Thwack _! He jolted, hackles raised, as an arrow bounced off the wall in front of him._ Damnit! _He admonished himself, his pride stinging again. He’d been so lost in his thoughts of her he’d forgotten the place was otherwise occupied. His eyes caught a flash of fur and teeth in the dark above him as she set upon the plunderer whose arrow had so nearly caught him, but his attention was quickly drawn to another that rushed forward._

_“Aaargh!” He raged, clumsy and slow, and Vilkas easily dodged his heavy swings. He ducked underneath the blade, waiting for it to sail harmlessly over his head before jumping up to slam into his chest as the bandit’s swing arced through. He growled as the squish of flesh in his jaws sent a shiver of pleasure through him._

 

Vilkas inhaled sharply. He could almost taste the blood in his throat, the feeling igniting a fire in his veins as he gripped his sheets. He sat up hastily, throwing the covers back and stumbling to the washbasin. His body was on fire and the water was cold, and he splashed it eagerly over his face and neck before sinking to the floor. The chill of the water had calmed the heat, somewhat, leaving his skin feeling clammy over his bones and bringing an unbidden shiver and stabs of pain.

He glanced at his shoulder. The whole of the joint was mottled, greens and purples marring his otherwise pale skin, and a long, crimson line stretched from the back of his shoulder over top to the front. He would heal, with no lasting damage thanks to his beast blood, but it still hurt like oblivion. “Ugh,” he sighed, leaning his head back against the wall and resting his arm on his knee.

The bandits’ leader came back to him with another piercing pain and a wash of her scent.

 

_Her cry rang in his ears as his stomach twisted, his blood turning to ice as he raced along the passage. Another cry, just ahead, and his stomach roiled again as he skid to a stop near the exit. He saw her slide on the wooden boards of the platform beyond the cave, the white mark on her chest streaked with crimson while her teeth sparkled against the blood dripping around her mouth. Relief flooded through his mind as she growled low in her throat, but the sensation was short-lived and quickly replaced with cold dread as Vilkas surveyed the mountain of a man that circled her._

_He was struck stupid for a minute, watching the scene before him as if in half-speed. The man was larger than his brother, easily, and though he bled profusely from the back of his neck, he descended on her with frightening speed. His waraxe sliced in precise arcs, Vilkas’ heart dropping with each swing, and she rolled to the side, only to slam against the far railing. The groan of the wood echoed in his ears as she used the wobbly post to launch herself up and onto the table, sinking her jaws into him again as she careened into his side._

_She was fast enough to avoid his swing, her teeth tearing into the cloth at his neck, but her own momentum helped him fling her against the railing opposite. He heard a thick tear, followed by a sharp crack as she landed against the thick posts. His waraxe came down with devastating force, missing her by so narrow a margin Vilkas thought his heart would stop, and sundering the boards nearest her completely. They strained and creaked beneath her weight, slowly coming apart beneath her as she scrambled to keep herself from falling through. But the bandit had raised his waraxe again. He would not miss a second time._

_Vilkas’ mind snapped back as thunder crashed overhead, and he howled at her to move._

_His anger and his frustration, his_ need _to know this other wolf, poured out of him in a painful, powerful plea that echoed into the night._ No! _He would not let her be snatched from under him, not when he was this close._

_The racing in his mind stilled as he called on the force he fought so hard to keep dormant, and he shuddered as the luscious warmth of his second strain flared to life within his veins, his power rippling across his body as he changed. This time it was painless._

_His ears brushed the ceiling of the passage as he stood upright, the need for four legs gone. His paws flexed into hands as his fingers elongated, ending in razor sharp claws. He fixated on the man standing over his she-wolf, his mind cracking with the bloodlust that would see this man’s life ended. It wasn’t just the necessity of it now. He_ wanted _it._

_No, this man would not harm her._

_He growled low in his throat as he stepped from the shadows, not as his shaggy tundra wolf, but as the legend-bound nightmare that made men fear the forest._

_And time stood still._

_The bandit froze in place, his skin whiter than snow and his face awash in terror as he realized his adversary was not alone. Vilkas bared his fangs as his growl increased into a snarl, and he lunged at the man. His teeth sank into the exposed flesh beneath the rended armor, drawing a shriek of pain that pleased Vilkas in the deepest part of his stomach._

_They crashed into the nearby table, a flailing mass of fur and flesh and claws and steel. Vilkas didn’t feel the sharp slice into his shoulder, or the fist pounding at his muzzle. The man’s blood flowing over his tongue and down his throat had thrown his bloodlust into overdrive, and he had to claw his way out of his own mind when he heard a pained whimper and the sound of claws raking against wood and stone._

_Her yelp was nearly drowned out by another crash of thunder overhead, and Vilkas dropped the man, who landed in an unceremonious thud at his feet. The rear, far side of the cave was a steep incline, and he saw her desperately trying to find purchase as she slid down away from him, her fiery eyes ablaze. The wind buffeted against him, the scent of blood and steel and sweat and… her, swirling around him in a maddening haze as the clouds finally released their cargo in swathing torrents of cold. A gurgle behind him drew his attention, but it was the werewolf that turned back to the bandit that had so nearly taken his prize from him._

 

Vilkas felt bile rise, his throat on fire as he vomited onto the stone floor. The death had not been quick, and he heaved again as images of what he had done to the man came into his mind in sharp reprieve. He would forever see his pale blue eyes, glossed over in unimaginable pain as Vilkas fed. _Gods, he’d still been alive._

“Vilkas?!” Farkas burst through the door and dropped to his side. “Tilma!” His brother bellowed for the kindly old woman, though Vilkas knew everyone in Jorrvaskr would be in his room inside of two minutes.

“Farkas,” Vilkas sputtered, feeling his brow knit as beads of sweat dripped into his eyes. He closed them quickly, fighting the urge to vomit again, and shutting out his brother’s worried face as his body tried to expel the very memories. His body shook as he wretched, trying, and failing, to vomit yet a third time, the dry heaves engulfing his shoulder in pain as he tried to support himself.

His head was spinning, and he was cognizant enough to know he was going to pass out. He felt his brother take his hand, the needed reassurance calming his spirit somewhat, before the void took him.

He dreamt of lily and ash.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The steading mentioned at the beginning of the chapter is reference to the Tundra Home, which is part of Bethesda's Creation Club. Info can be found here: https://en.uesp.net/wiki/Skyrim:Tundra_Homestead or at the Creation Club site (which requires login/sign up)


	4. A Conversation with Kodlak

Quiet conversation buzzed in the back of Vilkas’ mind, pulling him from oblivion even as he tried to fight it. He remained perfectly still, trying, in vain, to memorize the contours of the face he saw in his dreams, the feel of her in his arms. The tickle of chestnut hair on his chest, her soft skin beneath his calloused hands, eager for and responsive to his touch. Sweet heat as he was enveloped by-

“Pleasant dreams, Vilkas?” The sound of Ria’s voice brought it all crashing down, leaving him yearning for far more than just the scent that followed him everywhere.

He cracked an eye, finding the wizened visage of his Harbinger before him first. His arms were crossed as he stood just inside the doorway, though a faint smile played at his lips. Ria stood slightly behind him, plate and cup in hand, her cheeks flushed crimson despite the telling spark of her own arousal in her eyes.

“Not anymore,” he growled, sitting up so as to hide his… _display_ , and shooting daggers at the woman who had robbed him of a bit of peace, and release. It was no secret to him, the desire she harbored for him, and he knew he’d now have to double his efforts to keep her at arm’s length. She was on her way to becoming a decent warrior, sure, but the whelp just didn’t interest him. Especially not now.

“Leave us, Ria,” Kodlak pulled out a chair and took up a seat as he nodded to the bedside table, upon which she swiftly set the food and drink before hurrying out. There was no doubt in his mind that she would immediately seek out Aela and Myrrh, and he groaned inwardly. _Great, as if they needed more to rib me about_. He felt his scowl deepen as he reached for the tankard, and was steeply disappointed to find only water within.

Kodlak said nothing for a long while, though Vilkas hardly noticed as he inhaled the food the infuriating woman had left. He’d never been particularly fond of grilled leeks, or chicken for that matter, but damn if they didn’t taste good just then. He even enjoyed the soft pop of the snowberries, surprised at the strange absence of his normally visceral reaction to the squelch of the fruit in his mouth.

“How do you feel?” Kodlak’s question was not what Vilkas had expected to hear first, and he sat back against the headboard of his bed, considering the question as he popped another berry into his mouth. His shoulder did not pain him, nor his head now that he thought of it, and he’d all but licked his plate clean in his haste to eat. He felt great, by all accounts. He frowned, remembering it was just yesterday that he had been so ill with… he shrugged the thoughts away, looking up at the old man next to him.

“Physically? I’m fine,” he said, hoping the old man would let it at that.

Kodlak seemed unsurprised and gave a small nod, and Vilkas couldn’t tell if it was in simple acknowledgment, or approval. “And mentally?” the older man probed.

_Of course he won’t_ , Vilkas smiled, in spite of himself. “I broke the promise I made you. Which, I know you already know.” He set the empty plate back on the small table and ran a hand through his hair. How much to tell him?

“Indeed,” Kodlak’s voice was guarded, but Vilkas could detect no trace of anger or judgement otherwise, and the single word was all the man said. _What’s he playing at?_

“No lecture?” Vilkas’ eyebrows knit together, as much in surprise as suspicion.

“You didn’t answer my question, Vilkas,” Kodlak raised an eyebrow at him, but did not actually wait for him to speak. “We all struggle against the call of the blood,” he mused, stroking his shaggy beard as he sat back to regard him. “And I know it is particularly… _difficult_ , for you. You have always had such strong emotions, ever since you were a boy.” Vilkas wasn’t sure he liked where this was going, but remained silent as the man continued.

“Your intellect has always made you,” Kodlak paused, as if searching for the word. “Reactive.” _Not_ what Vilkas was hoping for, but Kodlak leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Take, for instance, how, not so long ago, you’d have woken all of Jorrvaskr in your anger at the situation Ria just witnessed,” he gave a mild gesture from him to the door to emphasize his point, “and yet now, here she was simply left to scamper away like some blushing maiden.”

He felt his face screw in indignation, glancing from his Harbinger to the door and back. _Ria? Scamper? A maiden?_ He snorted. “Master, I don’t under…”

“I am no one’s master, Vilkas,” Kodlak reminded him. “I am here to try to impart guidance and wisdom where I can, to those who will listen. But,” he sat back up, resting heavily against the back of the chair, and he seemed tired as he continued. “I have come to believe that my… _request_ of you may have been to your detriment.”

“What? What do you mean?” Vilkas didn’t understand.

“Consider what you just told me, of your physical condition,” Kodlak raised a heavy brow at him. “Yet, last night, your body, in addition to your mind, was overcome with anguish. With guilt.”

“Yes, but what I did…” Vilkas tried to explain.

“The guilt was not because of the man, I suspect,” Kodlak cut him off, and Vilkas couldn’t read his expression. “But because you believed you should feel guilty about it. Because of me, and my beliefs, which I have been eager to share with you. To push onto you. And your brother.” Vilkas fidgeted uncomfortably, but he couldn’t be sure if it was because the words were untrue, or because they were exactly right. “Do you believe what you did was wrong?” Kodlak’s voice was earnest. He was genuinely curious.

Vilkas ran a hand through his hair again. “The blood – _that_ blood – is a curse…”

“That you have the blood notwithstanding. It’s irrelevant regarding my question,” Kodlak interrupted again, and Vilkas felt himself recoil. He hadn’t pushed him like this in- “What matters to me, to Jorrvaskr, to your _brother_ ,” Kodlak paused, regarding him warmly. “What matters is what’s in your heart.” He rose then, reaching forward and patting him on the shoulder the way he used to when he was a boy. But there were no further words, and Kodlak let himself out the door quietly, leaving him to contemplate the question, and to fend for himself against his thoughts.

* * *

[Six months prior, in the annals of a mountain forest in the western Reach, near the border of High Rock]

_“Suns flare, moons mist, I call on thee this day. Bind forth her strength, power, and wit, so capture her essence I may.”_

_The light of the fire cast the witch’s face in dim reprieve, her dark eyes appearing hollow, and her sallow skin seeming to just stretch across her wide cheekbones as she chanted her perverse spell. The ebony dagger glinted in the combined light of the moons and fires, but remained still, simply watching as the witch brought the blade high, and preparing the imminent return of her energy to nature._

_The cursed dagger punctured her frame with a crack and…_

Ara bolted upright with a scream, throwing her hands up before her in panic. But darkness surrounded her, and the thin hide of her bedroll was beneath her, not the harsh cold of the altar. Her skin was a tawny tan over fingers that ended in short fingernails, and her hair, dark chestnut, fell over her shoulders. She heaved a sigh of relief, realizing it had been a dream, but it was short-lived as the phantom of the pain she’d experienced that night washed over her and she recoiled.

She hadn’t been afraid then. Hadn’t even known fear then. But there, alone in the forest in her makeshift camp, Ara was afraid. It had been so long since she’d dreamed of her sacrifice. Of her binding. And she trembled anew at the memory of the keening loss she’d felt but couldn’t explain. At least not then.

_A blast of power echoed in the night as the witch crumbled before the altar. Dead. Yet she remained, enveloped with the same orange light that had once emanated from within her, and helpless as the body she had always known was changed._

_She lay blind as flesh rippled across her wooden frame and blood began to course where Kynareth’s power flowed. A rhythmic beat flared within her chest as air flooded her lungs, and pain enveloped the body she was being bound to as it surged to life._

She rubbed her chest unconsciously as the memory played itself out, unnoticing of the tears that streamed down her cheeks until they landed against the back of her arm. She’d met the people that she would later die for that night. Ara frowned at the recollection, and a fresh wave of tears tickled their way down her cheeks.

_‘Unpleasant dreams?’_ The words melted through her mind, sending a shiver down her spine, and her eyes fell upon his magnificent form as she turned to find him sitting beneath the trees, watching her. She swallowed hard, nightmares forgotten, when he rose and moved toward her with silent steps.

“The adhartra is returned…” her voice failed her as she watched wolf melt to man with each step.

“Ah yes!” His eyes glinted behind his mask. “The hunt has been good indeed.” He stopped, squatting down before her. “Which begs the question: why are you out here, alone, instead of with your tribe?” His eyes darkened, though his voice gave no indication of his emotion.

“I…” she swallowed against the lump that formed in her throat, and she wondered if he knew that she had died. “It is better if I move on.” The words were heavy on her tongue, mirroring the feeling in her spirit. He squinted at her, as if he’d detected her omissions, or maybe just waiting for her to continue, but there was nothing more she wished to say.

“And you chose not to return to your goddess?” Hircine was apparently not satisfied with her short answer, and pushed her for more, but she gave only a small shrug.

“I am to remain as I am.” It wasn’t a lie. Not really. But she didn’t particularly want to discuss the details of her being refused her return. The pain was still too fresh. The daedra didn’t say anything for a long moment as he continued to squint at her, and she had to will herself not to fill the silence with something she truly didn’t wish to say.

“Indeed.” His voice was low when he did finally speak. “Leave it to a god to forsake their champion after their task is complete.” His disdain for the gods was clear in the tone of his voice, the weight of his disapproval sending a tingle up her spine and making her stomach flop. He seemed to struggle internally for a brief moment, before he gave the smallest of sighs and stood, grasping her arms and bringing her to her feet. “Well, take solace, my dear guardian, that _I_ have not forgotten our agreement.” He grasped her hand away from her chest, exposing the long scar that had been the catalyst to so much of her strife. “Or my promise to you.” He drew a finger lightly down the rough patch of tissue. Ara hadn’t forgotten, but had harbored blind hope he had.

“Leaving with my life is more than enough,” she offered, thankful her voice sounded steadier than she actually felt.

“I do not intend to kill you.” He sounded amused as he withdrew from her, removing his mask in a smooth, fluid motion. Her heart thundered in her ears as she watched his eyes bleed back to the yellow of his wolf, and she struggled to remain still beneath his gaze. He was handsome, but in an incomprehensible way. In an unnatural, otherworldly way. And despite – or perhaps because of – his inhuman eyes, his manner, his surety, his _power_ … it was all alluring in a way she wasn’t comfortable with. He was also uncomfortably close to her now, his breath a warm whisper on her face as his mouth quirked into a smile. “I have an… _offer_ for you, little one.”

She felt herself frown. “I have already done as you instructed.” Her stomach roiled at her realization she’d rebuffed a daedric Prince, and she looked down, away from his piercing gaze.

“Then you would have no interest in ensuring the other hags of Glenmoril meet the same end as their sister?” He pretended to retreat, as if accepting her apparent refusal, but her head snapped up. _Rhiamon’s sisters._ She felt her eyes darken, and he smiled at her knowingly. “I thought so.” His eyes burned into her, predator watching prey as he grabbed her chin, and her skin tingled as she felt him draw his power. “They will never catch your scent,” his voice was low as he turned her head, his growl a tickle on her ear. “They will never hear your steps.” She cried out in pain as his teeth sank into the soft flesh of her neck under her ear. Her blood caught fire, burning as it coursed through her body, and only easing when he brought his face back to hers.

“I don’t…” she struggled meekly against his grip. His hand felt impossibly heavy when it fell to her chest, the shock of his power sending her into near panic. Her mind reeled as she felt his spirit mingling with hers, breaking her open, remolding her to his will. He stole her breath even as he breathed a new life into her; stronger, faster, _alive_.

He pulled away suddenly, and her knees buckled under her own weight as she fought the onslaught of the power he’d imparted to her. She collapsed to the ground, her body once more on fire, crying a silent scream. She was blind beneath the harsh light of the moons, while yet yearning to feel them, to run beneath them. Her lungs were suffocated beneath the aroma of blood freshly spilled, and her mind broke apart with the need to see the hunt fulfilled.

But he kneeled next to her, placing his hand on her cheek as she writhed. His touch seemed to calm her mind, pulling her back as the chaos was muted. She looked up at the Prince, the fear she’d felt before strangely absent as he pulled at something now within her.

“Come,” he breathed.

Her mind stilled completely as she froze in his grasp, the yellow of his eyes filling her vision, and she felt the change begin.

She wanted to scream, squeezing her eyes shut as she braced for the pain.

But it never came.

Her body seemed to melt beneath his touch, as her spirit had, tremors racing along her flesh to seed themselves in her chest, and heat bubbled in her belly as her bones shifted and buckled, reshaping themselves.

But the pain never came.

She struggled, tangled and trapped within her clothing, the rip of the fabric a burst in her ears as she rolled free; the ground was soft beneath her, the night air alive with scent and sound, the breeze a cooling tickle.

_‘What have you done?’_ She eyed the Huntsman Prince warily, her tail curling as she shied away.

“A gift,” his faint smile was covered as he pulled his mask back into place. “A piece of myself, Ara, that you may pass unnoticed when you wish.” He regarded her another moment. “Your hunt begins in Whiterun.” It wasn’t a suggestion.

_‘I will be watching.'_ He was gone in a rush of leaves, the breeze carrying his whispers of the night through the trees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The mod referenced during Ara's conversation with Hircine is "Skyrim Romance" by Mara. It can be found on NexusMods or at skyrimromance.com.  
> Ara's origin story deals with a character from the upcoming mod Forbidden Love - Cael, but I am not satisfied enough with that story to post it fully yet. So for now, glimpses to her origins/past will be given via flashback, or through conversations etc.


	5. Why Do You Fight It?

_‘This is not Whiterun.’_ His voice washed over her, barely more than a whisper in the breeze, but Ara didn’t respond, gave no acknowledgement, no indication she’d heard anything, in her mind or otherwise. She kept her eyes focused on the sentry that stood outside the mine’s entrance, despite the tremor of excitement that wound its way through her body. She couldn’t block out the feelings he commanded of her, of her blood, and so she didn’t try. Indeed, she felt better around him, or, more accurately, her wolf felt better, and her spirit was calmer as a result.

The release of her arrow was immediately followed by a hollow _plock_ , and the guard crumpled to the ground with a thud and clang of his axe on the rocks.

“Well done.” She could sense his power as he manifested behind her. “But this is not the hunt I gave you.” His breath was hot on her ear now. “Why do you insist on fighting it? Your attraction to the wolf is clear.” He inhaled deeply, causing another shiver to wrack her body. “As is his to you.”

“Why Whiterun?” She hadn’t even laid eyes on him yet, and already she felt small beneath his gaze. But his warmth retreated from her, the sudden absence of his power leaving her chilled, and she straightened, lowering her bow and resisting the urge to turn and look for him. She would see him when he wanted her to.

“Why do you ask a question you already know the answer to, my little wolf? We had this discussion before.” His voice carried a hint of amusement, but his pet name for her made her mood sour.

“You didn’t answer me then either,” she countered him flatly. “What do the wolves here have to do with Glenmoril Coven?” She frowned as she asked. She didn’t know the wolves, and she had no desire to know the hags, so it wasn’t surprising that she hadn’t figured the connection yet – aside from the two groups’ shared service to Hircine.

“The witches strayed from my service long ago.” He was in front of her then, his fingers lifting her chin gently. _Damnit._

“Stop that,” she growled at him. She hated the way he could see into her mind as easily as he evaded her questions. “If you are in such a hurry, why not simply tell me where they are? Why involve these other wolves at all?” She pursed her lips, inhaling deeply through her nose in an effort to calm herself, and decided against speaking more. She expected him to be angry with her for peppering him with questions, but he simply removed his mask, revealing the slightest of smiles beneath. Indeed, it surprised her that the Daedric Lord of the Hunt actually seemed to regard her with warmth.

“Very well. The answer, sweet guardian, is two-fold.” He sighed, his unknowable eyes shining. “I would never deprive you of the thrill of hunting them. You should know that already. But finding those connections, my reasons for sending you to the wolves, on your own will make it all the sweeter for you, I think.” He drew his finger along her jaw.

“And the other reason?” She gritted her teeth against the tickle of his power, hating the effect he presumably knew he had on her spirit.

“Your arousal of their alpha caused him to take to my blessing in a way he has never done before.” His fingers circled her chin as his voice dropped low, husky. “Which pleases me.” Ara froze as he tilted her chin and bent down, pressing a whisper of a kiss to her lips, her spirit thrumming within her as she tried to fight the flare of heat that blossomed in her belly. She succeeded, but only in part. He excited her in a way she didn’t understand and was wholly different form how the alpha wolf in Whiterun excited her – which only served to excite, and terrify, her further. _Calm,_ she soothed herself.

But his gentle grip on her chin turned harsh, his fingers now threatening to leave bruises. “That is, until he recently decided to forego my gift altogether,” his voice was still low as his lips tickled against hers, but his words were a growl. “Which I know you had something to do with, and are going to fix.”

“I can’t just waltz into Whiterun and demand he embrace his blood,” she spat back, wincing under her own brazenness but nonetheless relieved that anger was replacing the other feelings he was arousing. “He’d probably kill me.”

Hircine seemed unimpressed with her reasoning as he leaned back up from her. “When has such a possibility ever deterred you?” He was now regarding her as one would a small child who was testing the limits of their parent’s patience, his grip on her still unyielding. “You forget your capabilities, it seems,” he frowned at her. “It would take more than the second-hand blood in his veins to kill you, Ara. Not that I would allow it in the first place.”

“Keeping that pleasure for yourself?” She seethed at him, yanking his hand away from her face, and she saw the wisp of a smile grace his lips.

“Your anger is misplaced, my little wolf, for I do not intend to kill you, as I’ve told you before. In fact, it’s quite the opposite.” His eyes swam with something she’d never seen in him before, caressing a dark part of her to life without having to lay a finger on her. “You have nothing to fear, though you might think otherwise,” he trailed his finger down her chest, into the valley between her breasts. “I am patient, and will enjoy this hunt, as you should enjoy yours.” His fingers brushed the fullness of her breast over top of her leathers as he returned his hand to her cheek, and she saw him smirk lightly at her sharp intake of breath from the faint caress. “A well-earned reward is always much sweeter than a hastily taken one.”

“I…” she was dumbfounded at the suggestion in his words, unable to process what she was hearing. “What reward is it you seek from me exactly?” She immediately regretted asking, deciding she’d sleep better not knowing.

“The greater hunt you have before you will be easier with the aid of the wolves in Whiterun.” Hircine’s voice was detached now, a stark contrast to the warmth it had held just before. He’d ignored her question, naturally, but she gratefully accepted the redirection, wondering at his choice of words. _Greater hunt? I’m already on a hunt._ “And…” he stroked her cheek, drawing her attention back to him, “the elimination of the traitorous witches will please not only me, but them.” He paused, watching her face screw in confusion. “Not that their appreciation, or mine, really matters, does it? I know you harbor the desire to see them ended.” He smiled at her knowingly.

She had no argument. She wanted nothing more than to see the hags of the coven burn. And by her hand. She’d had that want, an all-consuming desire, ever since she’d brought Ca- _him_ back from the brink, nearly dead at their sister hagraven’s wretched hands. Ara had saved him, yes, dying for him in the process. But Kynareth had brought her back – _sent me back_ , she corrected herself, and she felt herself scowl. She’d once been naïve enough to think that the guardian part of her had died on that altar, when she’d first been bound human. But she knew now that it had happened when Kynareth denied her return to Her side – when the spark of hatred had been ignited.

Hircine grasped her chin again. “Do you regret my gift?” She stared at him blankly, blindsided at the sudden subject change. _Does it matter?_ She knew he would not take it back, no matter her feelings about it. But he continued, “The chieftain…”

“Cael,” she corrected him quickly, but even she didn’t know why it suddenly mattered so much.

“ _Cael_ ,” Hircine quirked a brow at her, picking up on her uncertainty, “still weighs heavily on you.” Ara didn’t respond. The statement, and it _was_ a statement, not a question, was true. “Why?” He seemed genuinely curious.

“I…” Ara stammered, surprised by the question and unsure how to answer. “He was… they were kind to me,” she responded flatly, doing her best to form a semi-coherent thought about the feelings she had tried desperately to ignore and bury and forget.

“Have I not been kind?” He feigned jealousy, and she sighed. He _had_ been kind, given his… what he was.

“Comparatively,” she acquiesced. The admission was truthful, since she knew what he was capable of, and it suddenly seemed an odd disparity. He was gentle, delicate almost, with her, and yet, as a Daedric Prince, she knew he could erase her very being from existence. And quite painfully. The thought was sobering, and she struggled to look at him because of it.

But he seemed pleased enough with her answer, and his faint smile returned as he pushed the hair that had escaped her pins behind her ear, his fingers brushing the shell of it as he did so. “It’s time then. No more of this nonsense. I do not wish to have to be cruel.” He left her then, simply gone from before her as she blinked.

“Nonsense, he says.” Ara’s words were muffled as she rubbed her face with her hand. Her feelings were nonsense to him. _Of course they are,_ she frowned, and it was only the sight of the dead sentry that kept her from sinking completely into her own self-pity. She still had a bounty to finish, after all.

It _had_ been a mistake though, going to Whiterun as she had. The alpha had been more… _intense_ , than she had expected, and she’d swiftly been caught up in his energy, and in the thrill of their game. _Of him hunting me._ Her own foolhardiness had caused this. She rubbed her chest absently, feeling the newer scar that crossed over the much older one beneath her shirt, and shuddering as she remembered what he had been driven to.

She exhaled lightly, bringing her bow to bear as she crouched and headed into the mine that sat a couple hours south of Riverwood. Of course, Hircine had loved that the wolf had called his higher form, loved the surge of power that it sent him as his ‘child’ partook in his gifts. But she’d felt that it had cost the alpha.

Her eyes adjusted quickly, and she stepped over the poorly concealed tripwire, looking up to see the various boulders that were waiting to rain down had she broken it. She hadn’t picked up any trace of him in nearly two full cycles of the moons. Two months. And she knew it was because of that night. _Why did you…_ voices jarred her out of her thoughts, and she sank low around the soft corner. She saw two men sitting near a campfire, and her sharp hearing picked up that they were discussing the trap she had just avoided, and their comrade outside. _Hmm_ , she glanced back down the corridor, deciding to maneuver quietly back the way she had come. The question still nagged at her though. Why _had_ he done it? She was an outsider. Not a part of his pack. She notched and released an arrow, sending it sailing out into the cavern where the men were, and waited for them to come running to investigate.

 _So why would the alpha do something that would have such grievous consequences for him?_ She chewed her lip, perking up as the crunching sound of footsteps came around the corner. _Wait…_ she instructed, counting the paces in her head, and slicing through the tripwire when the men were in the correct position. They didn’t even have time to register her presence before the rocks came tumbling down with a crash, cracking into themselves and drowning out their cries of confusion and pain. _No one ever said bandits were the most intelligent._ She picked her way over the rocks lightly, the cavern now empty as she explored further.

She pondered the wolf’s actions and Hircine’s choice of words as she rifled through the bandits’ packs. _Enough for a couple meals at an inn_. She pocketed the few septims the packs contained, but left the rest. She knew that the wolf was attracted to the hunt, but… _No._ She swallowed hard as she shook her head. She hadn’t truly considered he’d be attracted to _her_. And that still didn’t explain why he’d just up and vanish after that night. Still, Hircine’s words bothered her. She didn’t want that. Anything to do with it. She had no desire to repeat the pain that inevitably came with such attractions.

She folded her hooded cloak neatly over the pile of her clothing on the table, tucking them all into her pack before placing it in the shadow of the bookshelf. Her thoughts of the alpha, of their game, had incensed her blood and she readily gave into it. There was something raw and honest about being a wolf. The blood didn’t play the games that humans so often did, instead focusing solely on the urges to hunt and to feed, and occasionally, reproduce itself. She knew nothing of the man that harbored the alpha wolf she’d come to miss… she felt her ears prick as the unexpected emotion funneled its way into her chest. _You don’t even know him, or the man,_ she chided herself.

She didn’t know the man’s name. And she’d certainly never seen him human. Hell, she’d never even spoken to him, not even through the mind-link that all of Hircine’s children shared when changed. _You miss the hunt._ Yes, that was it. She’d believe it if she told herself enough. The small lever pulled down easily, softly sliding into position as she tugged it down with her teeth, and the bridge that would give her access to the rest of the mine fell into position with a somewhat obnoxious thud. She growled low in her throat as the heady feeling of eager anticipation welled in her belly. _Well, they’ll know I’m here._

* * *

“Orgnar. Orgnar! Are you listening?” The shrill voice of the innkeeper roused Ara from her thoughts. The older woman was glaring at the man behind the counter as she furiously scrubbed at one of the tables. The innkeeper had an unpleasant demeanor most of the time, and her simple blue dress seemed out of place against her personality. She often tried to play the ‘harmless’ card, but it was as if even she didn't believe it, and Ara saw Orgnar give a slight eye roll.

“Hard not to,” the man’s deep voice was unmoved by her apparent anger, and Ara smiled. She’d been in the sleepy town for a while and had been present for enough of their bickering to know that Orgnar really _didn’t_ care. The inn was all but empty around her in the late hour, the large hearth in the center of the main room burning low, and besides herself and the two innkeeps, there were only four others still awake. But it didn’t seem that Delphine cared how many of her patrons she woke while nagging Orgnar, really.

“The ale is going bad. We need to get a new batch.” Delphine seemed satisfied, finally, with the particular spot she’d been focusing on, and straightened as she finished examining her work. “Did you hear me?” She eyed the dark-haired barkeep.

Ara glanced down at the tankard in her hand before quirking an eyebrow at him. He gave her a wink and a small smirk, before rolling his eyes again. “Yep. Ale’s going bad.” More disimpassioned words, and Ara wondered if it really was. Not that she’d be able to tell the difference probably anyway, as ale wasn’t much her thing.

“I guess you don’t have potatoes in your ears after all. Just make sure we get a fresh batch in soon.” Delphine dismissed him with her words, disappearing into a back room with the dishes and soiled rag as Ara heard the inn’s door open.

“Fresh ale came in yesterday.” Orgnar didn’t look at her as he passed her by, headed to the small corner table as the man who had entered took up a seat. Ara had seen him a couple of times – he always took up the same corner seat, back to the wall, and a scowl on his face as his amber eyes continuously scanned his surroundings. She had never had a reason to speak to him, but she’d learned he was a ranger, apparently, and hunted with a wolf. He was good looking enough, she decided, if a bit surly.

She saw the man’s eyes dart to her, and she quickly returned to her own supper, and the book she’d found. _Lycanthropic Legends of Skyrim,_ she brushed her fingers over the cover before flipping it to her marked page. The title had piqued her interest immediately, sitting all alone on the table in the mine as it had been. The bounty had been simple enough to complete, nothing more than eliminating the bandit’s leader, and she had taken the simple-looking book on impulse. Surprisingly, she had learned a few things from it.

Like how the alpha and his wolves were most likely Companions – the Companions being a group of warriors of some sort. Otherwise, she found the author’s musings to be highly entertaining. “If only you knew Lentulus,” she smirked as she reread the words he’d written. _If only you knew the real reason they didn’t want to speak of werewolves._ She would have chuckled to herself, if it weren’t for the major hitch that put in her plans. If the Companions were so averse to even speaking of werewolves in general, that meant that no one knew of their… _situation_. It presented a problem.

She couldn’t just appear from nowhere before them and announce she shared their secret. No, that thought left a terrible weight in her stomach, and she dismissed it quickly with a shake of her head. _So how to get their attention?_

“Jarl’s men left this yesterday, too, if you’re interested.” Orgnar stopped before her, sliding her a folded piece of paper as he grabbed out a clean mug. Honeyed mead seemed to be the ranger’s poison of choice. “Might be a bit much for you though.”

Ara narrowed her eyes as she frowned at him and unfolded the bounty notice. _Anything could be overcome with the right…_ _Giants._ Plural. Ara chewed the inside of her lip, reading the details. Apparently, the giants that normally made their home west of the capital had been straying closer and closer to the city, and it had resulted most recently in several guards being crushed to death when they tried to run off the mammoth the giants were tending. Ara winced. _Ew. What a way to go._

Even so, Ara folded the paper and gently placed it next to the other bounty notice she was using as a bookmark. “Thanks, Orgnar,” she nodded to the barkeep as she flipped payment for her meal onto the counter, her plan formulating in her mind. If she left early tomorrow, she could be to Whiterun before dusk the next day. Hopefully she’d fare better than the guards.

* * *

He was alone in the training yard, the merriment inside Jorrvaskr pushing his mood further into the depths it was already in as he slashed again at the dummy before him. His sword bit in with a crack, the repercussion of his hit vibrating up his arm, and he grit his teeth against the sensation. He had never been as powerful with his left hand as his right, but he’d definitely lost some of his skill and finesse since the bandit had sliced his shoulder. Granted, it had healed quickly, and with no loss of range of movement, but he couldn’t escape the need to retrain. He nodded to Eorlund as the smith passed, leaving the Skyforge for the night, and grumbled when his frustrations with his body, and the reason for them, inevitably brought thoughts of his she-wo… _her._

 _She isn’t yours,_ he reminded himself, rolling and stretching his shoulder as he tried to redirect his mind. But he frowned and reached for his tankard, relenting and taking a long drought of his mead in a desperate attempt to wash her, and the memories of her, away. He knew it was a futile endeavor, as mead hadn’t worked any better than training did to make his mind comply. Despite not having seen her since that night, his blood would not let him forget.

He set the tankard down, a little too hard, and rested back against the table as his grip on his sword tightened in annoyance. He’d refused to change, to chase after her, refused to allow the chance he’d call on his second strain again. He’d told himself it was necessary, at least until he could sort out what it was he was doing and feeling. What was going on in his head. Why she haunted him so. He held his sword close as he advanced once more on the dummy, the bite of his blade meeting its target easing his tension somewhat, and he adjusted his footing to compensate for his weakened blows.

But Vilkas snorted to himself. _You fool_. It had been months. Months of him fighting for a tenuous peace with his subconscious, with his wolf, and though he _had_ found a measure of peace with it, lily and ash still plagued him wherever he went. He’d seen her in his mind, and in his dreams, over and over, and nearly every night. The grace with which she moved made his hair stand on end, and her yelp of pain in the echo of his memory made his blood run cold. Every time. Even now, as he willfully tried to resist it. A jolt of pain stabbed into his side as his sword glanced from the target on his next strike. He’d shifted his shoulders incorrectly in his distracted follow through, and he held his ribs as he doubled over.

“Ah,” Vilkas growled at himself dismissively, straightening and wiping the back of his hand along his brow. Not that it helped, his arm was just as sweaty as the rest of him. He’d doffed his armor some time ago, the heavy plate suffocating in the warmth of the evening, and his shirt had followed not too long after when the fabric became sticky and uncomfortable. He slid his sword into the sheath hung over the back of a chair and sank down into the one beside it with a heavy sigh, thankful the training yard was empty in favor of the activities inside.

 _‘What matters is what’s in your heart.’_ Kodlak’s words played through his mind as he absently stretched his shoulder. He’d sat and talked with the old man several times since that morning. Yet, no matter how many long conversations, or how many kind words… none of it helped to soothe the maelstrom his mind had become. It didn’t help that Kodlak had had little to say in the way of his she-wolf – _the_ , _the she-wolf,_ he berated himself. Vilkas had finally relented and told Kodlak about her, and their game. And how it had made him feel. He had made sure to emphasize his continued opinion of his second strain, but Kodlak had said little in response to that either. In fact, in the several weeks since his admissions, his Harbinger had spoken little to him at all.

A door of the mead hall opened, stirring him from his thoughts, brief echoes of music and singing and laughter spilling out into the courtyard before the heavy door shut them away again. Vilkas did not need to turn around to know who it was, and he made no move when Skjor plopped into a seat opposite him with a huff. He had looked up to and respected the older man for so long in his life that it still felt strange he could so detest the man’s presence now.

“You should be inside with your shield-siblings.” Skjor leaned forward on the table, hands clasped as his good eye surveyed him, and looking every bit the warrior Vilkas had known in his childhood, despite the now graying hair and balding head. Vilkas knew that by shield-siblings he really meant pack, and he groaned internally. Skjor felt as Aela did about the blood and had been quick to praise his change in demeanor before, when he’d been transforming so often. But, just as Skjor had been quick to give praise, he had also been quick to admonish him when he chose to forego his transformations again, and there was little doubt in Vilkas’ mind he was here to do more of the latter.

He sighed, giving his shoulder a last stretch before reaching for his shirt. “I’m really not in the mood, Skjor.”

“In the mood for what, Vilkas? To be an alpha?” Skjor’s voice was scathing, challenging him. “Or how about to even have the blood at all?” He inhaled sharply, turning his head away as he reigned in his ire, and his voice was considerably lower when he turned back to Vilkas. “Why do you fight against something you willingly took?”

Vilkas rose from his seat with such force that it clattered backward, and his chest was tight with a sudden fury as he strode to the training yard wall. _Don’t let him do it_ , he tried to soothe himself, to will himself to accept the words. He _had_ taken the blood willingly, had accepted the power, and had risen to be an alpha so quickly because of his… _affinity_ for it. He hated that he couldn’t pinpoint when his mind and body had fractured apart, when the disparity had occurred, but a glimmer of his frustration had even wound its way towards resentment for his Harbinger, the pack, his _life_ in general, lately, and he hated that Skjor seemed to know these things too.

But as much as he wanted to believe that was the totality of his problem, he knew it wasn’t. The anger and irritation that had returned him to constantly being on edge were familiar, but it was the anxiety that had been rearing its ugly head increasingly over the last couple of days that he didn’t know how to handle. He gripped the top of the training yard wall in an effort to resist the dread that was welling in his stomach, again. He felt as if he were on a precipice, about to tumble over and be lost to… something. He clenched his hands into fists, his knuckles scraping the hard stone as the feeling of dread intensified. He had never felt so helpless. He could sense the change on the wind but knew he could do nothing to stop it. Nor could he avoid it.

His fingers had gone numb before he turned back to the old warrior. “What do you want?” Skjor was dismissive of his and his brother’s abstinence, of their agreements with Kodlak, just as Vilkas tended to dismiss that Skjor thought Kodlak a fool for rejecting their ‘great gift’. He didn’t bother to cover the venom in his gaze as he stared at the man, using his anger like a shield to cover his insecurities and troubles. He would never admit it out loud, but a part of him agreed with Skjor, and he abhorred himself as much as his shield-brother in that moment.

“You’re an alpha! Act like it!” The older man was standing himself now, his irritation having bled into anger as well, and Vilkas felt his wolf press against the back of his mind.

He bit his lip, hoping the pain would distract him from his anger, but his elongated canines only bolstered his wolf as he bit into the soft flesh inside his mouth. _No,_ Vilkas pushed back, the taste of his own blood making his heart pound in his ears. “What, like you?” He sneered.

“Hah!” Skjor was in Vilkas’ face the next moment, his good eye alive with fury. “We heard it, _felt_ it, you know,” Skjor’s voice had dropped low again, taking Vilkas by surprise. “How you reveled in it. Wanted it. _Loved_ it.” Vilkas knew he was referring to the second strain he’d always kept so carefully hidden, and to his having called it so many nights ago. Skjor smirked, nodding, and affirming the unspoken thoughts in Vilkas’ head. “Since when do members of the Circle run and hide from their problems? If you can’t hack being alpha…” His voice held dismissal and pity, and Vilkas felt his blood surge in response.

Skjor was goading him, and he knew it, but it would be so easy. _So_ _so_ easy. He could turn faster than the old warrior, a fact he knew Skjor was well aware of. But he knew that’s what the man wanted. “Bah!” Vilkas threw his hand in the air dismissively. He wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction and turned from him to stare out at the prairie below. Bathed in the warm tones of evening, the grasses swept back and forth in sheets of golds and oranges, but he struggled to dismiss the challenge from his mind as he watched the strands swell sedately against the breeze. _Did he still want to be alpha?_ He’d bested Skjor himself, earning the right, so long ago… but did he still want it now?

“You can’t hide from it forever,” Skjor continued to taunt him. “Sooner or later your wolf will get the best of you. Or, someone else’s will.”

 _Damnit_ , Vilkas’ blood raged in his veins as his body shook and his mind cracked just enough. _Fine_. He felt his knuckles pop as his nails lengthened into sharp claws and he turned and grabbed the older man by the throat. His teeth had grown long and pointed as well and cut against his lips as he pulled them back into a sneer. “My blood does not control me,” he breathed, willing his mind to believe it, even as it pounded in his ears. He was traipsing a dangerously thin line. _It would be so easy._

“Save it you two.” The vehemence in Farkas’ voice startled him out of his stupor, and he released Skjor, his fingers cracking as they shrank back to normal. His blood still surged, power still rippling within his veins, though if it fazed his twin at all, Vilkas admittedly couldn’t tell. In fact, Farkas’ face was curiously guarded as he turned, calling a single word over his shoulder as he raced from the training yard. “Giants.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To those who have left comments and kudos, thank you so much! I have a terrible habit of second guessing everything, and my writing is no different. The kind words and praises are #love.


	6. Fighting Giants

Ara’s heart thundered in her ears as she ground to a halt, her feet nearly sliding out from underneath her in her haste to stop, and the massive stone of the giant’s club stealing her breath as it passed inches from her face. “Damn you, you quick bastard,” she uttered sardonically, throwing her body to the side as the arc finished and it came down. It landed with such force her bones shook within her body, her teeth feeling as if they would rattle out of her mouth. She was nearly deaf, for the ringing in her ears, and felt, rather than saw, the second giant as it followed, the hollow vibrations as it trampled towards her melding into the shudders already wracking her body. _Or no, maybe that was the first, and this was the second._ Not that it mattered, really.

Her spirit churned within her, but the giants’ deadly hammer kept her focus firmly fixed, and she felt panic take root when she realized she wouldn’t make the safety of the city walls. Her scream was drowned out by the sound of club connecting with earth again, and she scurried backward, flipping over the low stone wall that sat along the road and into the long shadows cast by the sun as it gave its last to the plains around Whiterun. The city was so close! _Damnit!_

The giants had not been hard to find, obviously, given that they towered over everything else on the prairie, but she had been pleasantly surprised that they had already done her task for her, having meandered their way nearer to the farms just outside of the city. She’d purposely strayed too close and agitated the mammoths they tended, and when the massive creatures rumbled and stomped low warnings at her, the giants had decided she was annoying enough to dispose of.

She had hoped to be nearer to the actual city when they caught her though, so that the sight of the giants would give cause for its inhabitants to come forth to defend it, and thus giving her cause to approach the respected warriors. But now, dodging for her life as she was, that whole idea seemed… rather stupid. _I really have to get better about planning._ She knew her impulsivity would get her into trouble one-

Several angry grunts, accentuated by loud smashes, roused her from her own mind. This one apparently had a penchant for slamming his club against the ground, and she thought only briefly of the guards before realizing that _she_ would also meet the same fate if she didn’t get it together. She pulled the bow from her shoulder, the only weapon outside of magic she could ever get the hang of, and the familiar honed handle in her grip reassured her somewhat as she willed her body to fade. When the hair on the back of her neck stood on end, she pushed herself into a roll away from the stones, and none too soon. Pebbles pelted against the back of her head the next moment, raining down on her in a dusty shower as she slid into the road, the giant having obliterated the wall where she’d just been.

She shrieked, loosing her arrow and fluidly drawing a second as she moved to her knee, her muscle memory seemingly unaffected by her mind’s panic. But it struck high of its mark, sinking into the shallow flesh of the giant’s forehead. _Damn!_ She tried to calm her racing heart, focusing on the soft fletching brushing her cheek, the faint groan of the string against her flexed fingers. She released her arrow, sending her breath with it, and this time it struck true, embedding itself in the soft tissue of the giant’s eye.

 _Shit, shit, shit!_ She leapt forward, crouching into a roll as the giant reared back with a thundering roar, tossing his club away as he brought his hands to his face. It landed with a crunch on the rocks behind her as a white-hot pain erupted in her thigh, and she looked up to see a cloud of arrows raining down, though few found even remotely fatal purchase in their marks. The one in her was not lethal either, but the barrage was enough to garner the giant’s attention at least. _Thank you, Kynareth,_ she gave silent thanks as she climbed shakily to her feet, pulling the arrow out of the soft tissue of her muscle. She’d have been in trouble had it hit her knee, as that took a considerably more intense effort to heal. But her plan had worked! She felt the tense worry she’d had lifting as the light of her mild spell swirled softly around her thigh, resisting the urge to giggle with relief.

But her attentions were drawn back to the matter at hand as another volley of arrows sank themselves into the ground around her. There were a myriad of men and women rushing towards her through the tall grasses of the plain, warriors and guards alike running, bows drawn and firing as able, but she saw many relinquish their bows in favor of blades as they drew near. She drew again herself, but the sudden spark of confliction that flared in her chest took her by surprise and she faltered. _No, they’ve already killed people_ , she tried to reason with herself. Their deaths were not simply for her amusement, or solely for advancing her shoddy plan.

The second giant crashed into the fray with devastating force, sending a handful of guards flying, and screaming, to their probable deaths. She saw a first warrior reach the giant nearest her as she fired again, his greatsword flashing in the last rays of dusk. He swung in heavy but precise arcs at the giant’s ankle, his gray eyes shimmering amidst the dark warpaint surrounding them. He looked a formidable man, his powerful frame continuing his assault while seemingly unfazed by the spurts of blood spraying his face and raven hair with crimson. The warrior, and those around him, concentrated their efforts on the large, thick tendon that ran upwards from the giants heel into his calf, looking to sever it and cripple the giant’s movement. But that task was proving hard beneath the colossal club that was being hefted at them from above. The warrior jumped back, ducking low as the giant swung around, and she watched the large stone arc high above the giant’s head in preparation to slam it down. Suddenly, an idea began to form in her head.

 _I must be mad,_ Ara thought to herself, loosing an arrow and rushing forward as the warrior jumped backward, away from the crushing mallet. The giant swung it around again as he lifted it, and the warrior immediately rushed back in. _Wait, no_. Not the same warrior, this one was not covered in blood, and carried a longsword. He seemed slightly less bulky than the warrior before but was otherwise the spitting image of… it clicked in her mind as the first warrior appeared beside him.

The throng of guards and warriors had split, somewhat unevenly, between the two towering beasts, but Ara kept her focus on the same one as the brothers; they continued to strike with fluid, practiced movements as she ran towards them, identical silver eyes glinting beneath dark warpaint as their combined efforts drew the giant’s full attention. _Wait for it,_ she felt her body glimmer back into view as she neared them, and she drew her dagger as the second warrior’s blade bit deeply into the giant’s heel. _There!_ She rushed forward as the heavy club swung around, intent to swipe him away, and she all but cried with relief as the warrior crouched low, just as his brother had, to avoid the enormous, brutal weapon. Though slightly less bulky than his brother, his frame was still considerable compared to hers, and she was able to easily use him as a springboard. She just hoped and prayed her dagger would find wood or rope and not solid rock.

“What in Oblivion? Who is _that?!_ ”

She could hear the multitude of emotions in the warrior’s voice as she leapt from his back, but was unsure if the dull crack she felt was her dagger or her body as her head spun with the force of being pulled so quickly in one direction the next moment. Her grip on her blade was dangerously weak as she was hoisted, but she still managed to toss her free hand forward as she rose with the club, and a fiery font exploded from her fingers as she neared the giant’s face. It had its intended effect and the giant reeled, falling backward and away from those below.

She only vaguely registered another round of pained cries, her own scream eclipsing them in her ears as the zenith of the giant’s swing was reached and she released her grip on her knife. The drop to the giant’s broad shoulder was further than she anticipated, however, as she had failed to consider his stance shifting as he brought the club smashing downward. She landed hard, her balance failing as her legs gave out, and she slid down, grappling for something, _anything_ , to hold onto.

But providence seemed to be with her as a series of arrows plocked their way into the soft chest tissues below the giant’s long collarbone, and she gratefully used them to scramble back to her intended perch. The giant’s furious howl made her teeth rattle in her head again, and he reached a heavy hand in her direction, intent on swatting her away. The temperature around her dropped, giving birth to the ice magic she hurriedly pulled from both within and without. _I’m sorry._ Sorrow blossomed in her spirit, even though she knew it was necessary, and she plunged the ice spike into the fragile tissue of the giant’s inner ear. She swiftly found herself yet again unprepared and scrambling as the giant thrashed with renewed vigor, but his ruptured equilibrium failed after a moment, and it was the undercut of a dry riverbed that ultimately did him in. He stumbled, the delicate tendon twisting as his foot caught on the raised bank, before finally succumbing the multitudes of injuries inflicted from the warriors below; the tendon snapped, and he crashed to the ground in a cloud of dirt and debris.

Ara was flung forward as he toppled, her scream reduced to a whisper as she hit the ground and the air expelled from her lungs in a painful whoosh. She didn’t know if the pain in her head was hers or the giant’s, but the question was answered quickly as the drove of men and women set upon him, and her spirit felt the departure of his energy returning to Kynareth. Her pain lessened only slightly, the bright halos in her vision dimming somewhat, but tremors beneath her jolted her from her wallowing. There was still the other giant to contend with, and she felt it thundering towards its fallen companion beneath the ringing in her ears.

She sat up, heaving as her lungs filled with as much dust as air, and trying to shake the fading auras from her view. She made out what was left of the men and women fighting, an odd feeling of relief lifting a tension she didn’t realize was there when she spotted the warrior twins joining the fray against the remaining giant. She had landed not far from a red-haired woman barking orders to a couple of dark elves, the three of them a flurry of movement amidst the other remaining archers, and the loud commands splitting in her ears. Distanced safely away as they were, she directed as they released volley after distracting volley towards the colossal creature, while their blade wielding counterparts commanded the immediate attention of the behemoth before them.

“Farkas! _Move_ you ice-brain!” The red-headed woman shouted, her painted face contorting in worry as the giant’s foot stomped down, narrowly missing the larger of the twins.

“Vilkas!” The larger twin, Farkas, apparently, called to his brother as he slid backwards and fell, and Ara watched in horror as the giant stone club came arcing around, having barely missed Farkas as he sank to the ground. His brother heard, too late.

She sprang to her feet, willing the world to stay upright as he focused on the other brother, Vilkas. _“Hlif!”_ She screamed the word, feeling her magic pull painfully through her injured body, and seeing the red-haired archer turn to her. The giant’s club connected with her magic, and it felt as if the heavy stones of Whiterun’s walls were toppling over her, so great was the energy funneled into it, into _her_. It drove the air from her lungs again, and she saw Vilkas fly across the field, landing with his own pained cry in the grass some distance away even as her vision was nearly eclipsed with black. But she wasn’t done, couldn’t rest yet. _You were made to protect_ , the words echoed in her mind as the giant once again raised the stone hammer, preparing to slam it down, and she stumbled forward.

“Vilkas, move!” Farkas’ call to his brother was a whisper in her ear as she saw him scramble forward too, though she knew it was in vain. Others also left their spots near the giant’s feet in a similar, futile, attempt to reach the downed man before the inevitable happened.

“NO!” Her heart hammered in her chest as her body and mind felt ready to split into a million pieces. She pushed, hearing the giant’s heartbeat beneath her own even as searing pain rippled over and through her. She watched the giant hesitate, his hulking form turning eerily still as she willed him to stop and wrestled his spirit under control. The men and women on the field froze too, stealing curious and frightened glances at her as orange tendrils began to snake their way over the giant’s towering form, but Ara couldn’t afford to pay them any mind. It had been some time since she’d attempted the call on a creature so large, and she felt her spirit falter against the now unfamiliar strain. Nonetheless, she was succeeding, for the most part, and she took a tentative step forward, feeling her hair pushing around her face by the unseen currents of her magic.

Oblivious now to her own injuries, she felt only the tumultuous emotions raging within the giant, within her, and it was only Kynareth’s warmth caressing her skin that fueled her will to reach the fallen man she didn’t even know. Vilkas.

But the red-haired woman grasped her arm, forcing her to a halt “How are you doing that?”

Ara felt her spirit falter again; she was running out of strength. Her true origins were too complicated to explain now, not to mention this woman was a complete stranger, with intentions unknown. It was only with great restraint that she turned to the huntress who held her arm. “You must be quick,” her voice was hoarse beneath the weight of the power twining with her spirit, and she grimaced, baring her teeth with the effort it took to form words. “I cannot hold it for long.”

Understanding glimmered as the woman’s soft gray eyes darkened beneath her green war paint and flicked quickly from her to the giant, and then her compatriots. “Companions! Eyes on the prey!” She released Ara’s arm as she bellowed the order, the furious cascade of arrows resuming as the warriors, too, regained their senses and renewed their assaults.

Ara did not watch the scene unfold, but their incensed cries cut into her as well as any blade and she tried to steel her spirit against the impending loss. The ground quaked in the wake of a thunderous crash and Ara felt an immense weight lift the next moment, leaving her lightheaded and making her body shake. She hobbled the last of the distance to Vilkas, falling beside him in a huff, and struggling to find her center as her spirit ebbed and pulled within her. And when the giant finally silenced, she was left with a momentary void that brought an unexpected wash of tears. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, unsure of who she was apologizing to, or why, really.

“You owe… me… no apology.” A strained voice startled her out of her thoughts, and she looked down to find a liquid silver gaze meet hers as he feebly attempted to sit up. The effort produced agony in his features, and he fell back into the grass with an anguished groan.

“Lie still,” she sniffed, blinking away the tears as she tried to gather what energy she had left and urged him to keep laying back. She pulled at the fastened buckles of his damaged chest plate, sliding the sundered armor to the side and pulling his shirt up to expose his battered torso. Too late did she notice the small wolf head at the center of the armor’s neckline, and too late did she realize what the red-haired woman had shouted. Her hands met his skin and her breath caught in her throat as she froze. Woodsmoke and the crisp cold of night filled her nostrils, her stomach dropping when the faint hint of blood rose; the final piece to a scent she had been so keen to avoid, yet simultaneously yearned for. _The alpha._ He needed her help, but her spirit roiled in shock, and she barely resisted the urge to pull her hands away when his own spirit stirred in answer.

“I can help you,” her words were more forced than she intended, but the man stilled, regarding her with a wary gaze. She risked glancing at him, frowning her apology as his steely eyes met hers once more, and she saw the flicker of recognition beneath the pain. “This may sting.” He looked as if he were going to roll his eyes at her, but the deep breath he attempted brought a fresh wave of pain and he acquiesced, nodding slightly.

She turned her gaze away as familiar warmth circled, kissing along her skin, and her hair again fluttered softly with an unseen current as she pulled it within her. She grit her teeth against the ache that burgeoned in her mind’s eye and pushed the magics outward and into the man. _One, two, three,_ she kept silent count as her magic caressed along his broken ribs, spasms of pain rocking Vilkas’ body as they mended. _Bleeding_ , she felt a trickle of wet along her lip, ignoring the fresh starburst in her head as she willed his internal injuries to heal.

But her spirit wasn’t alone, and his pushed forth against hers with frightening intensity, his body spasming again as his blood surged. His eyes were shut tight as his hands closed painfully around her wrists, and a hollow cry escaped his lips as his back arched through another convulsion. His wolf was fighting him for control, his cursed blood brought forth in her haste to heal him.

She heard the clamoring of the others as they rushed towards them, giants now vanquished, and she threw her weight onto his chest, barely managing to push him prone again. She didn’t know who among those behind her knew his secret. _I can’t let anyone see him_ … She wrenched a hand free to cup his cheek, knowing it was more than the man that gazed back at her from his liquid silver eyes. “ _Hvíla_ ,” she whispered, feeling her own blood and spirit overtake the unrest within his mind and body, and he relaxed beneath her. “Sleep,” she affirmed as she sat back on her heels with a shudder, her own blood, and pain, suddenly and conspicuously quiet as her vision swam.

She stared blankly as Vilkas’ brother and friends surrounded them, watching him push himself to sit before scurrying backwards from her. His face was awash in anger and confusion, but she didn’t try to stop him, didn’t try to explain. She was utterly depleted, her spirit spent, her body done. It had been some time since she’d exerted herself beyond her reasonable capacity, and with good reason, and images of Cael as he’d lain before her flashed through her mind. A part of her whined in relief as she felt someone near her, but she was too tired to sort out why, just as she was too tired to sort out what it was that Vilkas was saying as he jostled away from her.

Steely eyes found hers once more, and black warpaint, visible in dark patches beneath streaks of crimson, filled her vision as Farkas kneeled before her. “You have my thanks.” She felt a gloved finger wipe the blood from her nose, and she almost wondered if he was smearing giant blood across her face as well, but her mind didn’t finish registering the appropriate response. _Sleep._

Sleep sounded good.

*****************

Vilkas watched apprehensively as the strange woman’s hair fluttered softly, stirred by a current he did not feel. The heat that began emanating from her hands he _did_ feel, however, and he clenched his jaw against the stabs of pain that rocked though his chest. But the heat only grew in intensity, until it felt as if her hands were fire on his skin, searing straight into his core. Slowly, her healing radiated through him, repairing the damage that had been done, and he was surprised when he found greater relief with each piercing pain of a rib being mended.

His chest was a cobweb of tingles and shivers when he saw a slender rivulet of crimson drip from her nose and onto her lips, and the smell of her blood brought his wolf surging forward. _Lily and ash_. She smelled of… he gripped her wrists in an effort to push her away, his back bowing with the force his blood expended to be unleashed, and he clenched his eyes shut as he felt his teeth break the skin of his lips.

He barely registered her weight as she threw herself onto his chest, but her hand was still fire as she wrenched it away and pressed it against his cheek. Her eyes were wide with panic when he opened his. “ _Hvila.”_ He growled even as he heard her whispered word, but it was as if he suddenly couldn’t remember how to breathe. The fire in his veins chilled to ice as his bloodlust was abruptly quelled, and he found himself suffocated, his vision clouding, beneath a thick blanket of her scent.

“Sleep.” Her weight was removed from his chest as she sat back on her heels, and he struggled to remember exactly what was going on as the strange woman before him slowly came into clear reprieve again. She seemed immeasurably tired – her skin was pale, the normal lustre of life seemingly gone, and her eyes, though vibrant, were hollow and far away. _Those eyes…_ he knew those eyes. He just couldn’t… wouldn’t he have sensed her blood? But panic pushed fresh into his mind as he spotted the crimson streak seeping from her nose again. He recoiled backwards, preparing the reaction his own blood wou… Vilkas froze.

His blood, both strains, had been overcome by whatever this woman had just done to him. _What magic is this?_ He scrambled backwards from her, his fear mixing with surprise and anger in a heady incense that boiled in his stomach. _She can’t be_ , he reasoned. How could she control his blood if she were? He saw Farkas’ eyes dart to her upon realizing he was up and moving, and he knelt before her instead of finishing his stride to him. “Farkas, no!” He reached forward rather hesitantly, still surprised when the excruciating pain from before was completely absent, and begging his brother to get away from her before she…

“You have my thanks.” Farkas’ voice was soft, and Vilkas saw him reach forward, though his view of her, and what his brother was doing, was blocked. A pang of fear shot through him as his brother recoiled backward the next moment, and Vilkas scurried forward on hands and knees, intent on helping his brother fend her off. “Vilkas it’s okay! She just passed out.” Farkas raised his arm in defense as the other wound protectively around the woman that had fallen, unconscious, against his chest. Farkas had mistaken his fear of the woman, and his fear for him, for worry over the woman’s condition. _Typical._ But the irritation that Vilkas expected was absent as he watched his brother stand and hoist her into his arms.

“Vilkas!” The clamor of his shield-siblings roused him from his discontent thoughts, and he found himself being helped to his feet by several pairs of hands. The faces of his fellow Companions, Aela and Myrrh, Ria and Athis, Merrick, even Skjor, were awash with relief, and he struggled to separate the discord of their praises and words of victory.

“I’m surprised you found such control,” Aela stepped close, her soft gray eyes scrutinizing him as she glanced from him to the woman in Farkas’ arms, and it took VIlkas several seconds to realize the meaning of her words. But before he could respond, Aela seemed to finally become aware of his half-tucked shirt and unbuckled armor. “What happened, Vilkas?”

“She used her magic… healing,” Vilkas bit the words out, sending a scathing glare of his own to the unconscious woman as he tried to refasten the clasps of his chest piece. But the heavy pressure against his chest gave him pause, and he peered down at the dented armor. _Shit. Eorlund is going to kill me._ It wasn’t just dented, it was nearly sundered completely, the deep depression encompassing the entirety of the front plate. _By Ysmir,_ he felt the color drain from his face. He’d taken the full force directly in the chest… _How am I not dead?_

“She healed you?” Merrick stepped beside Aela, giving a cautious glance to the guards nearby as he laced the words with suggestion. The young new-blood was taller than his shield-sister, his ice blue eyes intense as his blood continued to settle. As usual, Aela had not been the only one to sense the tumult within his blood just then.

“But I thought she… the spell she…” Aela’s face darkened in confusion, and she reached forward, her fingers brushing along the indentation in his armor. She smirked, giving a final glance to the unfamiliar woman before turning and stalking off back towards the felled giants.

“I’m glad you’re alright brother.” Farkas voice was almost jovial as he stepped beside him, having silently watched the whole exchange, and Vilkas didn’t answer as he watched Aela wrench an unfamiliar dagger out of the knots of rope on one of the clubs. _The woman’s,_ he realized, remembering how she’d used his back to launch herself at it. He heard Farkas chuckle as he scowled, and he turned to his brother, immensely relieved when familiar anger came trickling back.

“What?” He growled, ignoring Aela as she scoured the rest of the battlefield, probably for more of the stranger’s weapons.

“Nothing,” Farkas’ mouth quirked into a lopsided grin. “Just thought maybe you _had_ died, and she’d brought someone back in your place.” Vilkas scowled further, glaring at his brother. “But you’re fine.” Farkas was unfazed by his anger, as always, and he struggled to keep his composure. Farkas, however, apparently thought himself hilarious.

“Oh shut up,” Vilkas growled again, causing his brother to break and laugh at him. “Let’s go get a drink.” _Gods know I could use it._ The others nodded, praising the idea as they agreed with it, and started for the city.

“I’ll take her to the temple and meet you there.” Farkas made to turn away, but he grabbed him by the shoulder.

“No.” Farkas turned back to him in surprise, and he reached out, taking a lock of her hair in between his fingertips. “Take her to Jorrvaskr. Let Tilma tend her.” He couldn’t be completely sure what he’d sensed in her, as he hadn’t exactly been paying attention and so couldn’t be sure either way if it was or wasn’t _her_. But the scent of her blood, her hair, he would make…

“But she’s not a…” Farkas tried to counter, his eyebrows scrunching together in confusion and causing the dried blood that covered his face to crack. But Vilkas wouldn’t be deterred.

“Just do it!” Vilkas barked at his brother and, not waiting for an answer or rebuttal, stalked to where his blade had fallen in the dirt. He scooped it up, grimacing when his eyes fell to the massive club that had so nearly done him in. _But it didn’t, thanks to her._ Vilkas scowled again.

He took a last glance around the battlefield, absently seeing Aela examining a giant’s corpse as he took in the carnage around them. Usually they just ran them off, it had been some time since they’d truly fought the beas… His blood swelled languidly in his veins as the breeze carried the scent of his brother, and the woman to him, and he shook his head against the churning thoughts before turning and following the trail of lily and ash to the city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starting in this chapter, and moving forward, Ara occasionally uses certain words to bring forth her magic. Most of them I have obtained from a cool dictionary I found quite by accident.  
> http://www.vikingsofbjornstad.com/Old_Norse_Dictionary_E2N.shtm  
> I am definitely not a linguist, and so if some words/phrases are grossly incorrect, I mean no offense.


	7. Testing Ara's Mettle

Subdued sounds swam just beneath her consciousness, pulling at and twining with the faces and voices Ara saw in her nightmares, but she couldn’t understand, couldn’t make them come forward. They were overrun, drowned out completely, by the thundering tremors echoing in her mind and reverberating through her body. Half-formed echoes chased her through the blued silver hues of the moons, vying to crush her even as the tall apparitions simultaneously blew away with the breeze. His howl called to her, his form a nightmare bathed in moonlight as she keened beneath the sound. The breath of the winds drew the shadows from the moons, and she could only watch as he fought to remain in the light. But he couldn’t escape, couldn’t outrun the dark as it took form once more around him…

_No!_ Ara jerked awake, stomach roiling as her mind sought to reconcile the vestiges of the dream still playing through her mind with the realities that her eyes forced over top of it. The room was cast in silver, the low lanterns seemingly ethereal as they flickered lightly, and she squeezed her eyes shut, clinging to the rhythmic pulse in her ears, willing herself to calm, to realize it was only a dream. The luminous reflections slowly darkened, the silvery cast retreating to leave blissful, empty dark in its wake, as she came-to fully.

The scent of lavender and leather oil, an odd mix she hadn’t pictured going together, assaulted her senses, and she cracked an eye, wholly unprepared for the pain that screamed into her head with the action. It was a great deal more intense than she had anticipated, her mind a mess of static and worry, and she groaned. But she could make sense of the sounds and shapes, and smells, apparently, that surrounded her at least, which was an improvement from-

She sat upright quickly, but nausea threatened to spill her stomach as the starbursts flared again in her head. _Too fast._ She held her head in her hands, waiting for the qualms and immediate pain to pass, and recognized the tickle of a memory vying to be recalled. She saw a red-headed woman that had been perched in the chair across the room rise at her movements, “It’s alright.” The woman was barefoot, clad in a simple tunic and leggings, and, without her dark green warpaint and armor, Ara almost didn’t recognize her. _The woman from the…_ “You’re safe here,” the woman continued, and Ara almost recoiled as the woman reached for her. But she got the distinct feeling she wasn’t in danger, and so remained still while the huntress sat beside her.

“Where am I?” Ara’s voice was hoarse, her throat burning with the effort it took to form words. The huntress smiled softly, gesturing to a cup, already filled, on the small bedside table. Ara took it gratefully, drinking the vessel dry and relishing the soothing liquid; the huntress did not speak immediately, allowing Ara to enjoy the simple pleasure.

“You are in Jorrvaskr. Home of the Companions, in Whiterun. You’ve been here for a couple of days.” The woman sat up a little straighter, bringing her hand to her chest, “I am Aela.” Ara could tell she wanted to say more, to ask questions, but didn’t want to push too much too quickly, and Ara appreciated it. She’d been alone long enough that silence had stopped bothering her, but she realized she owed the woman her name, at least.

“Ara,” she gave a slight nod with her introduction. “You have my thanks.”

“You owe us no thanks,” Aela seemed genuinely surprised, but Ara didn’t notice, finding herself distracted as the words struck a chord in her memory and she sat forward with a start.

“Is V-” She made to get up, but Aela grabbed at her.

“Vilkas is fine,” she soothed, giving a small, but genuine, smile, “thanks to you.” Ara felt herself visibly relax, the knot of worry she couldn’t pinpoint before unwinding, and she leaned back against the headboard. But Aela spoke again. “All of the Companions appreciate what you did for him,” her soft gray eyes turned somber, “except him, it seems. He has been… conflicted over your help. Why?” Her gaze remained impassive, if not cool, and Ara swallowed hard. _Here we go,_ she thought with some apprehension. _Might as well be honest._ But she frowned, suddenly hesitant. What if Aela reacted as he had? She knew the woman before her also shared the blood, as the faint scents of blood and magic, of Hircine, mingled with her natural ones, but she nonetheless decided against the blunt truth for the moment, and instead accepted light misdirection as her best course of action.

“I’m not sure why you would ask me, given that I don’t know him,” she chewed her lip, but Aela seemed unimpressed and silently waited for an explanation. _Well this is awkward._ “I sensed something that I don’t think he was expecting,” she added, pausing to try and gauge the huntress’s reaction, but Aela gave nothing away through her stoic gaze and Ara frowned deeper. “To that end, I get the distinct feeling he doesn’t care for magic.”

Aela’s eyebrows rose and she nodded her head, smirking lightly. “You’d be right in that. He doesn’t care for magic use. Thinks it to be tricks, used by the weak.” Aela’s eyes seemed to scrutinize her more intensely as she said the last, though her smirk yet remained, and Ara got the impression the words were not as innocent as they seemed. They were a test, to gauge _her_ reaction this time.

“So I shouldn’t expect a ‘thank you’? Good to know.” She’d meant it to be sarcastic, but her tone didn’t quite convey it, and she felt a slight thread of tension in the air as Aela’s smirk disappeared. But she pushed it away; she would be damned if she apologized for something that was as much a part of her as her hand, or her eyes… or her wolf.

“Vilkas is… many things,” Aela seemed to struggle to find an appropriate wording. “But he will give credit where credit is due. Eventually.” The last word was so low that Ara wouldn’t have heard it without her rather advanced hearing, and she wondered why Aela would say it in such a manner. “To that end, there are a great many of us that owe you the same, actually.” The smirk had returned, and she seemed to assess Ara as she crossed her arms. “I think you would make for a decent shield-sister, myself.” The huntress’s careful composure melted slightly, revealing hints of apprehension and… _excitement?_

“You think I should…” she let her words trail off. To say she was surprised was an understatement. “I-I don’t know,” she stammered. Finding them was all well and good, and was a means to an end. But _joining them?_ She frowned again. But Aela’s apprehension seemed to melt further, and Ara was unsure what to make of the tenuous smile breaking out over the woman’s face.

“Let’s get you some food, and a change of clothes, first. Then we’ll find Kodlak.” Aela finally smiled in earnest, and Ara didn’t know if that bode well, or would make for disaster.

* * *

Vilkas gave an exasperated sigh as his brother’s face screwed up in indignation.

“That seems rather harsh, given that you don’t even know her,” Farkas’ silver eyes were dark. “Even more so, considering she saved your life.” His brother was situated in the chair adjacent him at the small table, his fingers tapping the smooth wood in irritation; they were alone in the small alcove next to their rooms, and Vilkas was thankful for that. It had irked him when his brother had directed their relaxed conversation to the giants, to _her_ , and he preferred his continued vexation at the woman be witnessed by his brother only.

Vilkas’ frown deepened into a scowl. “Aye,” his voice dropped to a whisper, “but I do not wish to know her, or the magic she wields that can bend my blood to her will.” He saw his brother’s shoulders drop, conceding his point, and leaned back, crossing his arms in smug satisfaction while resisting the urge to shudder at the memory. He chose to ignore the fact that it was also a lie. Partly. He _did_ want to know her, had wanted that for so long it seemed now, and he hated that he _still_ wanted it, despite what she’d done on the battlefield.

But Farkas was apparently not ready to let the issue go. “And say she hadn’t…” his face was set, and Vilkas recognized the frustrating determination in his brother’s eyes as he turned in his chair to face him more fully.

“Farkas…” Vilkas rolled his eyes with a groan.

“You’d have shifted, in front of guards no less! And what would we have been able, nay, _forced_ , to do?!” Farkas slammed a closed fist down on the table as he ran a hand over his face. _Damnit._ Vilkas shifted uncomfortably in his seat, unable to argue with his twin’s logic. Farkas was usually dubbed the dim-witted one out of the two of them, but it was times like these that belied the inaccuracy of that assessment, and Vilkas’ pride felt it.

He was still angry and embarrassed by his visceral response to the woman, by the feral surge that had overtaken him when she had touched him, so much so that his blood had nearly overwhelmed him immediately. “I would not have lost control,” he snarled back, rising from his seat to face his normally compliant twin. It was another lie, and he knew Farkas would see through this one. He _had_ been close, and he knew his brother knew that as well – the whole of the pack had sensed it, after all, and his wolf pressed against his consciousness in irritation at the memory. Hell, he was wavering now.

“Damnit, Vilkas!” Farkas stood as well, pain eclipsing through the slate his irises had darkened to as his hands clenched into fists at his sides. But his brother simply began to pace in front of him as he seethed. “I don’t know what has been going on with you lately…”

“I’m fine! Your _concern_ is not necessary!” Vilkas’ own hands had curled tightly into fists as he faced down his brother, but Farkas seemed to ignore him, and he began to shake with the exertion he was expending keeping his blood at bay. What had gotten into his brother? Farkas was kindhearted and easygoing, though one would have trouble imagining that if they saw the furious, impassioned man before him now. _By Ysmir, if Skjor and the others have twisted his mind too…_ Vilkas’ judgement lapsed at the thought, and he felt his wolf rise within him.

“If you’re involved, it will _always_ concern me!” Farkas raged and Vilkas’ felt his shoulders tense in anticipation. They had rarely fought, ever, Farkas was too good-natured for it, which only antagonized him all the further. But when Farkas squared his own shoulders, and that infuriating set in his jaw returned, Vilkas knew they were going to exchange blows.

Vilkas bared his teeth, grasping the neckline of his brother’s shirt in a half-hearted attempt to stave off the inevitable. “ _I_ am the…”

Not unexpectedly, Farkas wasn’t willing to hear any of it. “But you are also my brother!” He gave a hard shove against his shoulders, sending him crashing into the table and strewing its contents to the floor. Farkas had always been bulkier than him, even in their youth, and now that he was an adult, his chest and shoulders were like a battering ram against him. Vilkas felt every pound of his brother’s size advantage as he smashed into him, and their combined weight caused the table to splinter beneath them as they struggled. But the minor distraction gave him his opening, and he landed several blows to the sensitive tissues of his brother’s lower ribs. It had always been one of Farkas’ weaker spots, and he felt his twin’s hold on him falter before another jab ultimately made Farkas release him. The hard hit to his temple the next moment, however, sent him rolling away, but he managed to scramble to his feet before Farkas could land another hit, and he was ready when his brother lunged for him.

It was Farkas’ back that met the wall this time, and Vilkas landed several more blows to his nose and jaw before Farkas could get hold of his shoulders. His blood raged, but he knew that his brother was not challenging him, not in _that_ way, and it gave him a measure more resistance than he expected, even as he felt Farkas’ blood pushing for release too. He caught Farkas’ arm as it-

“ _AHEM_.” Aela cleared her throat in an overtly loud effort to get their attention, and they both froze. He saw Farkas glare over his shoulder as he spun around to face her, and their brawl was suddenly forgotten as his anger’s attention was diverted.

“ _What?”_ He growled in his chest, but it faded in his throat as his word clipped short. His shield-sister stood at the ready, feet spread in fighting stance and shoulders squared, her face furious and dead set on him as her arm extended to cover the woman at her side.

“Vilkas...” Aela’s voice was low in warning, guarded, and he could sense her pulse racing in her throat. But he paid her, and the others that had gathered in the hall – summoned undoubtedly by him and Farkas – no heed, instead focusing on the woman he detested so. Her rich, dark hair was partially drawn back, falling in soft waves behind her shoulders and framing her high cheekbones and slender jaw, while well-manicured brows angled over her eyes in smooth arches. Her eyes sat at a slight angle as well, though not as pronounced, and her nose was straight and slightly upturned above rather full-looking lips. She was striking, altogether, even as she was otherwise in simple, worn leather pants and a cotton tunic; though it seemed slightly too big for her, hanging off one shoulder and revealing a swath of smooth, tawny-tan skin. She arced an eyebrow at him for his brazen scrutiny of her, but her irritation was all but lost on him as her eyes bored into him in return.

Honey and marigold bled to bronze and burnt oranges within the irises of her eyes as she searched his face, and he suddenly couldn’t remember what he was so angry about. Or how to breathe. He felt Farkas step close behind him before his heavy hand slapped onto his shoulder. “She saved your life in more ways than one, brother.” Though his voice was a whisper, it had returned to its usual, easy cadence, and he closed his eyes against the onslaught of emotion that was roiling through his stomach. He knew his brother was right, as she’d saved him physically, but also saved his life in regard to the Companions, by ensuring their secret remained so.

He hadn’t really stopped to consider the second fact, so lost had he been in his own mind and pride, and he felt every inch of his brother’s weighted gaze on him as Farkas passed him by. He willed himself to meet her gaze again, also finding that Farkas had moved to stand beside the object that had started the argument in the first place. She seemed to be assessing the situation with slight confusion, her eyes flicking from Farkas and Aela to him, and he felt his stomach flop in dejection. Or was it relief? How could she have pushed his blood back before if she couldn’t sense it now? _No matter._ “Aye.” Vilkas’ voice was a rumble in his chest as he glowered at the three of them, wiping the blood from the split in his brow with the back of his hand. Yes, she had healed him, helped him win the fight against his own mind, but that wouldn’t change it. Not about her, or what she’d done. _Keep telling yourself that._

“Seems I missed something here.”

_Shit._ Vilkas groaned internally as Kodlak appeared in the opposite doorway, and he gave a stern, disapproving look as he spotted the smashed table and his and Farkas’ appearances.

“We were just looking for you, actually,” Aela’s glare at him melted as she looked at the Harbinger, pushing past to stand in front of the old man. “She wishes to speak with you.” Aela pushed the woman forward with a slight nod and small smile to her, like a mother soothing a nervous child, and Vilkas’ stomach dropped as cold seeped through it. _The only reason she would want to speak with Kodlak…_

“Ah, so the young woman is revived!” Kodlak held out his hand, gesturing emphatically. “Come here then girl!” Vilkas felt a tremor of power flicker over his skin as he looked her over more thoroughly, but was unsure what could have driven his Harbinger, of all people, to such a reaction.

She stepped further forward, her eyes locked on his as she moved. He felt his chest tighten and his eyes darken, his stomach turbid with the memory of her hands on him. It was as if she’d been inside his own head with him as he fought for control, drowning in his own blood’s power and the nightmare his mind had been reduced to lately. He _should_ have been grateful, he knew… _no_ , he couldn’t let himself be comfortable with her power over his blood. No matter how excited his wolf was that she was here; no matter what he had felt before.

“Ah yes! You look much better.” Vilkas’ head snapped up, the reeling in his mind falling back as his attention was drawn to Kodlak, whose eyes were kind as he assessed her. “It is no small feat to face giants. Tell me, how are you feeling?”

“About as well as can be expected.” Her voice was soft and smooth against Vilkas’ ears; discerning and confident, yet respectful, as she replied.

“Mm, I’d wager Vilkas would agree with you.” Kodlak glanced up at him, raising a brow as the corner of his mouth quirked beneath his beard.

She glanced over her shoulder at him, frowning as her eyes once more met his. “He looks at me as if he’d rather not.” Vilkas’ mouth went dry at her words, and a small snicker drew his attention to Aela, whose lips suddenly parsed together as she carefully avoided meeting his gaze.

“Awh, that’s just his face.” The strain in the room was broken as Aela and Farkas, and even a few others, crumbled into fits of laughter. He tried to ignore his brother’s crack at him, tearing his eyes away from the two idiots he had for shield-siblings and back to the woman that stood before his Harbinger. Her eyes glinted as a small smile pulled at her lips, but she turned away quickly, returning her attention to Kodlak.

“Now then,” Kodlak gave a sidelong glance at the other two, who simply erupted into fits of laughter again. “What service can I be to you?”

“I witnessed the strength and valor of many of the Companions as they fought against the giants,” she paused, leaving Vilkas’ heart hammering loudly in his ears. _No,_ he pleaded silently, knowing better than to think this wasn’t Aela’s doing. _Curse that woman too._ “I would ask for the chance to see if I can find my own place here,” she finished softly. _Damnit._ Vilkas could only imagine the problems she could present, given how many of them had the blood.

“Hm, perhaps…” Kodlak groomed his fingers along his beard, “yes, a certain strength of spirit.”

“Master, you aren’t seriously considering accepting her?” Vilkas stepped forward, unable to keep the scorn from his voice, and ignoring the silent glares from Aela and Farkas.

“I am nobody’s master, Vilkas,” Kodlak reminded him sternly. “And last I checked, there were still a few empty beds in Jorrvaskr for those with a fire burning in their hearts.” Kodlak continued to stroke his beard, waiting expectantly for him to continue his objection. The man knew him well.

“But the Companions praise force of will in battle. We value honor and strength,” Vilkas’ frowned at the woman before him now. She watched him closely, and though her face was carefully neutral, he could hear her pulse hammering in her neck. “There is no honor in using magic and … _tricks,_ to defeat your enemies.” He stopped when he realized his words had been aimed at her directly, instead of his Harbinger.

“Vilkas, you bonehead. This woman exhibited a force of will like I’ve never seen before,” Aela stepped forward again to stand next to him, and he saw Farkas and a few others nod agreement out of the corner or his eye.

“What?” Vilkas tried to keep the dread out of his voice.

His shield-sister brought her chin up and her eyebrow arched in the beguiling expression he assumed all women innately knew how to make. “The magic you admonish so saved your life several times over.” She smiled sweetly. “But oh, that’s right, you were nearly out cold for that part.” The huntress turned to the woman, to Kodlak, as she continued. “She may use magic, but she _is_ also skilled with the bow.” Kodlak seemed intrigued and gestured her continue. “When Vilkas and the others rushed back to fill their bellies with mead, I stayed behind with the guards to examine my marks.” Vilkas felt his stomach drop, he didn’t like the confidence in Aela’s voice. “Turns out, while she may not have fired _many_ arrows, those that she did were calculated and struck true.”

“Hm,” Kodlak’s brow rose as he turned his gaze to her. “Is that true, girl?”

“I,” her mouth fell open as she turned her gaze downward. “Yes.” She sounded almost sullen. “While I am most adept with magic, I have some skill with the bow.” Kodlak was silent, one arm crossed over the other as he yet continued to toy with his beard, and Vilkas saw her fidget slightly before she continued. “I still have much to learn, though I can also manage well enough with a dagger if needed in close quarters.” She looked up, a small frown playing at her lips. “I try not to let it come to that.”

Kodlak remained silent as he glanced from the woman to Aela, to Farkas, and finally to him, eyebrow raised. “Hmm…”

“Master you can’t…” Vilkas tried to plead some sense into the man.

“Since you have such strong objections, why don’t you take…” Kodlak paused, turning to her. “I’m afraid I never asked your name, girl.”

“Ara,” she replied quietly, turning to follow the old man’s gaze to him.

“Ah. Vilkas, take Ara out into the yard then, and let us see what she can do.” It sounded as if Kodlak had already made up his mind, but he wouldn’t refuse the opportunity.

Vilkas felt relief shudder through him and he stepped closer to her. He was considerably larger than her, but she didn’t move, didn’t shy away, as he looked down at her. Her eyes met his, unflinching, and he felt a glimmer of surprise at her lack of fear. He smiled inwardly. “Aye.” Every part of him accepted her challenge.

* * *

She glanced around the training yard as the crowd around them grew. Despite the heat of the afternoon sun, it looked as if nearly all of Jorrvaskr was outside, eager to see what she had to offer, or, more likely, how soundly he would best her. At least, that’s what Vilkas wanted to tell himself.

“The old man said to have a look at you, so let’s do this.” His voice was low and curt, and he watched her suppress a shiver despite meeting his gaze with a hard one of her own. He surmised he was more of a warrior than she could ever hope to be, but he was still wholly surprised when she squared her shoulders and drew her dagger. Its weight was familiar to her obviously, its feel visibly reassuring as she exhaled lightly, nodding.

Vilkas felt his eyebrows rise. Was she really going to use just her dagger? The set in her jaw gave him his answer and he shrugged lightly, raising his sword. His first few strikes were cautious and calculated, simply to get a feel for her, and, unsurprisingly, she easily evaded them. He paused momentarily at her lithe, graceful movements, so reminiscent of her wolf’s, but he shook himself back to attention. Her eyes met his with practiced determination the next moment and he smirked, resolving to pick up his pace, and set upon her again. His wolf growled in satisfaction as he saw her eyes widen and heard her breathing become labored as she ducked and dodged the exacting arcs of his blade, but for every move that he made, it was as if she knew he would make it, and he continued to catch only empty air.

********

Ara could feel the pulse of Vilkas’ spirit within him as he lunged forward, his blade cutting the empty space behind her as she spun out and away, and she forced her mind to remain blank, to keep her movements effortless and natural as she waited for her chance.

“You weren’t apologizing to me, were you?” His voice shattered her concentration, and the clang of his blade against her much smaller one as she turned it aside drew a gasp from those around them. She felt the force of his hit in her arm, struggling to keep her grip on her dagger as she thrust her other palm forward and up. But he leaned backward, easily avoiding her hand, and simultaneously opening himself. She kicked the weak spot on the inside of his knee as she jabbed the still-seeping split in his eyebrow before using his surprise to pull him forward and slide past him. Her dagger left a short, neat slice through his shirt on his bicep; a little added touch that she didn’t feel the least bit bad about.

“No,” she finally answered, facing him and resisting the smug swell of satisfaction she felt at the pained, shocked expression on his face. It had been a dick move, taking advantage of the fight he’d had with his brother that way, but he really _had_ deserved it.

“Hm,” he seemed to ignore the split in his brow as he touched the small gash on his arm, and was further unfazed when his fingers came away tinged with blood. “I thought as much.” His hand fell back into place on the hilt of his sword as he rolled his shoulder and stretched his neck, and her spirit pulsed within her, responding to the push of his power. She had hurt him, and, he was getting angry. She took a step backward as his silver eyes narrowed in perfect compliment to the threat he wore on his features. Even without the dark contrast of the warpaint he’d worn before, his eyes were as intense as he was.

“What of it?” She taunted him, knowing more than just the man in him heard it. _How easily angered he is,_ she caught herself before she frowned at the thought. This would prove to be an issue, she was sure.

“It’s as I was explaining to Kodlak,” his eyes flicked to the older man, who stood amidst the others watching them. “You are not fit to be a Companion.” He lunged forward, the hiss of his blade catching air as she easily dodged, but his follow-through was calculated, and quicker than before, and she felt the sting of his blade on her skin as it cut through her shirt in return.

“You have not answered my question.” She ignored the small flare of pain, focusing instead on how his eyes trained onto her blood, his pulse quickening.

********

“The Companions do not harbor those that pity the beasts that fall to their swords or arrows,” Vilkas jabbed quickly, the clang of metal as she again turned it aside ringing in his ears, and he felt his blood rush beneath it. She was annoyingly nimble and quick on her feet, and he struggled to hold reign on his welling anger. Even _she_ would be able to defeat an opponent blind with rage. “We all appreciate a good fight with a worthy opponent, but beasts, giants or not, are hardly worth the-”

His words were cut short as she ducked inside his swing, using his own strength against him again as her hands grasped his arm and pulled the rest of his body to her. She cried out with the effort it took her to flip him, and she fell to her knees above his head as his back hit the dusty ground.

His initial shock was dampened when he felt her blade at his throat, and he tried to calm the blood raging against his mind at the sudden turn of events. “Truly?” Her breath was hot against his cheek, sending a surprising jolt to his stomach as he opened his eyes to find her face upside down, but inches from his. “Only a _beast_ kills without feeling,” she jeered, and he froze beneath her. Her eyes were dark as she breathed heavily against him, but her carefully placed emphasis went very nearly unnoticed as the smell of her sweat filled his nostrils, followed closely by shades of lily and ash assaulting his mind as his body responded to her closeness. _Damn it all to Oblivion! Not now!_ Another jolt seared into his core and he, and his wolf, were suddenly and unequivocally preoccupied. His wolf wrestled against his consciousness, and he felt the tickle of power along his skin as it broke through.

_You traitor,_ he admonished himself as he grasped her wrist above her dagger and tried to will his body to listen to reason. But it was no use, her breath was a tickle on his ear, sending shivers of white-hot heat down his spine; it seemed her next words were meant only for him. “Yet it has been my experience that _man_ is the only creature who sees fit to blame the beast for being true to its nature.” _What the hell is that supposed to mean?_ He felt himself scowl, his mind awash with guilt and anger and fear and… arousal. _Damnit!_ Headier than before, her scent was intoxicatingly heavy and he couldn’t focus long enough to keep his blood contained. He heard his bones begin to pop, his gaze flicking back to her, and then further down – or up, rather, as he was on his back under her. Her shirt, loose as it was, had drooped away from her body, revealing the expanse of her chest above her breast band. It was marred by a scar, one of the same shape as a familiar patch of white fur, and crossed by another, also familiar, in the shape of the wound he’d seen her receive. It was enough, though, as the tightening in his gut brought him back just enough to stave his blood – for the moment.

“Why are you here?” His voice was impossibly low as he breathed the words, the shock of her besting him tossing his judgement and discretion out the window. She was deathly still above him, though he felt no tremors of her power in response to his, and the moment he realized she was not reacting to him as he had her, his blood receded, like a sullen child having been denied dessert. He knew he wanted her answer to be because of him, deep down, but he didn’t want to acknowledge it. Didn’t want to let himself be glad for it. She wasn’t what he expected, wasn’t what he’d imagined her to be, and he wrestled with the utter dejection he felt because of his own assumptions having been wrong.

“Not here.” She gave nothing more than the whispered words before withdrawing her knife and standing, and he heard deafening applause echo out beneath the shouts and cries of the crowd around them; he’d completely forgotten they were not alone. He sat up on his elbow, shaking his head and trying to sort out exactly what was swirling in his mind, and he was unabashedly bewildered when she extended a hand down to him. But even though his mind was still spinning, he took it and she helped him to his feet. It was less of a wonder, though, when her quick wink and wry grin pushed his familiar scowl back in place.

“Well, well, it seems there are no end to the surprises you hold, my dear!” Kodlak appeared in front of them, extending his arms out to emphasize his point. Vilkas followed the old man’s gaze, realizing with much chagrin he still held her hand in his.

He dropped it quickly, pretending to check the gashes on his arm and temple to disguise his rush, and groaning inwardly when a hard slap on his back was followed with Farkas’ boisterous laugh. “A lucky turn,” Vilkas growled, his eyes flashing to Ara.

“Careful, brother, might give the girl ideas.” Farkas elbowed the woman, urging her to partake in the fun, and Vilkas felt another jolt in his stomach as he watched a flush creep up her neck.

“It doesn’t take luck, or even much skill, to exploit an angry opponent.” Her eyes locked on his, and his mouth went dry again.

“True enough,” Kodlak nodded, clapping him on the shoulder. “It seems Vilkas has forgotten.”

Vilkas felt the sting in his pride immediately, but the emotion was quickly pushed second in his thoughts. His breath caught in his throat as he watched, rapt, as his brother put a hand on Ara’s back and ushered her towards the mead hall. He swallowed hard, feeling his wolf pacing, anxious and uncertain, just beneath his consciousness. He was caught off guard by the foreign, and completely inexplicable, sensation welling in his gut at his brother’s easy comradery with her, and by his likewise baffling reaction to it.

“Care to explain?” Aela was behind him suddenly, but Vilkas didn’t answer for a long moment, instead watching his brother and Ara disappearing inside, along with most of the crowd. “Why the vehemence for her?”

“This was _your_ doing,” he growled at the huntress over his shoulder. “The Companions do not welcome users of magic!” He hissed the last word, both furious and frantic at the situation. “She…” _shit_. He turned back to his shield-sister, defeated. “I don’t trust it.” It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either.

“Mm,” Aela hummed, and Vilkas didn’t know if it was in acknowledgement of her meddling, or a nondescript response to his mistrust. But, if Aela had suspected his omissions, she otherwise didn’t say so, and he was grateful for that. “Your restless anger has returned, rather fiercely,” she glanced at the door Ara and his brother had used as she said so, brows rising in silent question. But Vilkas wasn’t ready to acknowledge that yet, and so remained silent, avoiding her gaze. “Your fight with Farkas then? Because of her?” She had changed the subject, but he didn’t really want to talk about that either. _Damnit._ “Pride is often the mask of one’s own faults, you know.” She squinted her eyes at him, frowning slightly; at his stubbornness, he guessed.

“Since when are you such a philosopher?” Vilkas returned her tepid gaze. He was in no mood for the cryptic nonsenses, especially not from her.

“Because you seem to have trouble understanding that you cannot have it both ways. You cannot become what you want by remaining what you are,” Aela said dismissively. “There is change in the air, I know you sense it.”

“Aye,” Vilkas’ voice was guarded, and he eyed the woman somewhat warily, wondering where she was going with it.

“Perhaps finding what you seek requires letting go of the familiar,” she raised an eyebrow, “and having the courage to embrace something new?” He watched her stalk after the others, turning back to him as her hand rested on the door pull. “She did best it, after all.” Her choice of words was not unnoticed, but she disappeared inside before he could respond.

“She isn’t as new to me as you think,” he said bitterly, still wanting the last word. _What does she expect me to do?_ But the mostly empty courtyard offered no solace.

 

 


	8. It's a Start

Disaster. It had made for disaster.

She managed to keep a natural-ish looking smile plastered to her face while person after person threw congratulatory platitudes and ‘welcome to the Companions’ at her, but she knew that if Farkas so much as moved his hand she’d bolt; there were far more wolves in Whiterun than she had anticipated, and, while her wolf was all but giddy with excitement, she… wasn’t. Having been alone for so long, she now felt as if she was suffocating beneath the amount of people around her, and Farkas’ presence was comforting, despite hardly knowing him. _Because that makes a ton of sense,_ she frowned, recognizing her ridiculousness. Even still, she felt like she could trust him, and slowed slightly, if only to feel him at her back.

“No one’s gonna hurt you,” the deep timbre of his voice preluded his breath on her ear, but she still started at his face’s proximity to hers, which caused him to chuckle. _Besides Vilkas._ She felt herself scowl at the thought. “Here, sit,” he pulled a chair beside her and pushed down on her shoulders, “you deserve some mead.” She almost whined her displeasure at being left alone with the overwhelming crowd of people, but a somewhat familiar face appeared next to her.

“You’ll have to forgive everyone,” Kodlak huffed slightly as he eased into the seat beside her. “Vilkas is one of the best we have here, and it’s not often he lands on his ass.” The blunt, and rather crude, manner in which the older man spoke was in such stark contrast to his demeanor before that Ara felt her mouth drop open. “Don’t look at me like that girl, I’m sure you’ve noticed he’s a bit-” Kodlak’s brow creased in mock-consternation.

“Stubborn?” Ara interjected. She didn’t know Vilkas, not really, but it didn’t seem right to join in tearing him down, even if it was a little bit deserved. But Kodlak only laughed, his heavy eyebrows rising in surprise.

“Vilkas is more than stubborn, but your respect of him speaks well of you.” So, the old man knew what she’d been thinking. _Huh_ , Ara felt herself smirk. “You have to understand, I have known the twins since they were but wee pups themselves, first brought to Jorrvaskr. I assure you, anything I say comes from a place of fondness.” Ara heard Farkas groan as he approached, tankards in hand, but Kodlak only laughed again. “But so, too, trust me when I say they are both among the _best_ the Companions have to offer. And you’d do well to heed their advice when it’s given.”

“I’m sure Vilkas’ advice would be for me to march right back out the city gates,” she chewed the inside of her lip, ignoring the mead in her tankard. It bothered her that he’d reacted so strongly, so _negatively_ , to her. _This isn’t how it was supposed to be_ , she frowned again. _No, it isn’t how you imagined it would be,_ she corrected herself; she couldn’t afford to let her self-pity distract her, especially when she had no idea how she would carry out Hircine’s order now.

“Ah, he’ll come around. Once his pride heals,” Farkas was altogether dismissive of his brother’s actions, and her worry, by extension, but she found little room to protest it. His brother probably knew him better than anyone, so if he thought-

“See? I told you that you had what it takes!” Aela’s excitement jolted her from her thoughts as the woman gave an exuberant squeeze to her shoulder, but she was nonetheless relieved when the woman took up a seat with them. “But I do wonder,” the huntress’s face turned serious, “do you think you could take him in a real fight?” A man, one she hadn’t yet met, had been following close behind the huntress and he plopped down when his shield-sister did, apparently eager to hear her answer as well.

“Without magic? Not a chance.” There was no point in being prideful. Vilkas was far larger, far stronger, and far more experienced, obviously, than her.

“And with?” It was the stranger who asked. He was taller than Aela, with sandy blonde hair that was slightly unkempt, and eyes the color of cornflowers. While he looked small next to Farkas, his demeanor indicated a wiry strength as opposed to brute force.

“Oh, Ara, this is Merrick,” Aela made a short introduction before leaning forward towards Ara slightly. “Well? What about with magic?”

“I have no interest in using magic on those who don’t deserve it,” she looked pointedly at them for a long moment before her false bravado crumbled and she turned to her tankard, using the mead as an excuse to lower her eyes. _Hm, maybe the ranger is on to something._ The sweet, slightly bitter mead had the delectable accent of honey, and the slight burn in her throat was minimal before warmth spread to her cheeks.

“Well, your actions have already spoken for you,” Aela beamed at her. “And speaking of which, we can start training as soon as you get settled. Your other things should be in the sleeping quarters already, so find me whenever you’re ready.” The huntress gave a quick wink and her knee a soft tap as she rose before she disappeared into the crowd.

“You weren’t complete shit out there, but your form and footwork need work,” Merrick slid over into Aela’s vacated spot. “Let me help you with those, and Vilkas’ll land on his back every time.” She couldn’t pinpoint the emotion behind the glint in the man’s eyes, but she felt her head tilt slightly, mirroring her wolf’s reaction to the one in front of her.

“Hasn’t worked out that well for you yet,” Farkas growled lightly, raising his eyebrows in mock disinterest as he took another drought from his own tankard, and she saw Merrick scowl. But something in the bottom of her stomach quirked at the larger warrior’s comment; it seemed as if it was more than just brotherly defense, but she couldn’t be sure. Farkas definitely seemed the more amiable of the twins, her wolf agreed with her even, thus making her wonder at the interaction.

“I think I’ll work with Aela first, if you don’t mind. I’m most comfortable with the bow anyway,” she frowned a slight apology, unsure why she felt the need to, before turning to Farkas, who tried to hide his smirk behind his drink. “Can you show me where she was talking about?” Ara had every intention of taking Merrick up on his offer, she knew she needed all the help she could get if she were going to refrain from using magic, but everything seemed just too much all of a sudden. “It was nice to meet you, Merrick. Kodlak.” She smiled to the old warrior as Farkas, too, rose from his seat and gestured in the direction of the stairs, his large hand finding its way to her again as she moved.

Farkas’ hand was gentle, yet firm, on the small of her back as he steered them through the people and down into the basement, and she suddenly felt awkward with the new silence, compared to the din before. “Why did you join the Companions?” She asked, looking up at the large man, and she saw him frown slightly, something dark and heavy passing over his eyes. But he covered it quickly, smirking down at her the next moment.

“We had little choice really. Vilkas and I have been here since we were little whelps, like Kodlak said. Our father, Jergen, raised us here. Even Vignar couldn’t remember Companions younger than us.” He chuckled as he said the last, obviously proud of their achievement.

“And you’ve never felt the want to do anything else?” She tried to pose the question as naturally as possible, since she really did want to know, but it still felt strained, like she was judging him.

“Nah, the Companions are my family. We fight so that other people don’t have to,” his hand flexed on her back slightly, steering her to the left and down a hallway as she considered his words, so like what the earth mother’s visage had told her was to be her fate. “…glory to ourselves and each other,” the words he’d been saying were lost on her as she forced herself out of her own thoughts, and his hand flexed again before falling away as he pushed the door to their destination open, allowing her through first. “This is where the rest of the whelps sleep. I’d normally say just pick a bed and fall in it when you’re tired, but with some of this lot, it might be better to claim one as yours. A few of the others have already done the same.”

“Kodlak had said there were still empty beds, but there are so many people…” she let her question trail off, half formed, as she took in the sight of the numerous beds, some made, some not, and she was suddenly overcome with grief at being in the midst of other people, just living their lives, again. But the myriad of scents assaulted her without warning, and she felt her wolf whine against her consciousness. _Juniper and honey, ale, mead, snowberries, and – fish?_

Her stomach knotted at the same time as she felt relief wash over her; it seemed as if none of the people she would be sharing a room with were like her, as the only hint of magic mingled with blood was coming from Farkas, and while she was grateful for it in some way, she also frowned at the implications. She would have to manage keeping her secret a secret until she could figure out how many people, and how many fellow Companions, knew of the blood.

Farkas chuckled slightly again, though the amusement didn’t reach his eyes, and she felt an odd mixture of embarrassment and indignation welling in her stomach. “You’ll have to get used to it. It does get rather boisterous around here at times,” he quirked an eyebrow at her as he gauged her reaction, but she’d pretty much forgotten about her not-question, as evidenced on her features. “But many are gone at any given time, on various jobs or contracts...” He paused for a moment, as if considering whether he wanted to say what was in his mind. “Which, if you’re looking for something to do, we’ve got trouble right here in Whiterun Hold. Nothing we can’t handle, of course,” he crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe as she grabbed her bow from where it rested by a bed.

“What kind of trouble is that?” She asked absently. The feel of the carved handle beneath her fingers was comforting, and she felt her wolf push in excitement. She wanted to take Aela up on her offer, but she also liked the idea of a little solitude after being around so many unfamiliar people.

“Rogue wizards.” Farkas was eyeing her carefully as she looked up. “They’ve been killing any who cross their path,” he explained. “I don’t know how you feel about going up against your own kind-”

“My _kind?_ ” She all but growled, feeling her wolf surge in response to the deemed affront. “I don’t have a _kind_ , and I don’t go around killing people wantonly for no reason. With magic or otherwise,” she dropped her bow on the bed, raising her eyebrows as she turned to him, and she saw his expression wither a little as his shoulders sank. “You think me a mage? Fine. But that is where the similarities between myself and others with magic end. Are we clear?” She paused, watching him tense when she crossed her arms. “Or will this be a continued problem?”

“I didn’t…” his emotion was apparent in his voice, “that isn’t how that was supposed to come out.” He rubbed a large hand over the back of his neck, clearly not used to the embarrassment he felt, and she felt her anger cool a little as the telltale scent of distress wafted to her.  _Shit._ She hadn't meant to upset him.

“I meant what I said before,” she stepped next to him in the doorway, “I want to try and find a place here.” Regardless of her lack of a long-term plan, she still needed to find the hags of Glenmoril, and the Companions were her only lead; she couldn’t afford to alienate one of the few people who had shown kindness and interest in her. So, swallowing her pride, she reached forward and touched his forearm tentatively. “I’m sorry for my reaction.” Ara saw the telltale spark of connections being made in the silver of Farkas’ eyes, _so like his brother’s,_ she thought, but shook it away just as quickly. “What?” She asked instead, ready for the confusion that glinted from him next. “Just now, you thought of something,” she explained. “What was it?”

“You don’t need to apologize, I’m used to it. My brother, he's...” he grimaced slightly, his hand rubbing the back of his neck again, as if the action would explain everything - which, it kind of did - and she frowned. “He’s a better talker than me, really. I know he can be a bit…” Farkas paused, as if considering his words, not unlike how Aela had before. “He’s intense,” he finally finished.

“I gathered,” she said flatly. "But I wouldn't say he's better at talking, especially when he gets so angry so quick." Her expression dared him argue the point.

“Yeah," Farkas sighed. "I don’t know why he’s been acting so strange, especially since you saved him, but he’s a good person. And now that _that_ ,” she knew his head tilt referred to Vilkas’ little test of her, “is out of the way, he should go back to normal.” Ara got the distinct impression that he wanted to add ‘I hope’ to the end of the sentence, or maybe that was just her - she wasn’t sure. Either way, she smiled lightly, and he responded with a lopsided grin of his own that reached his eyes this time. “This can be a rough life, but regardless of my brother’s actions, I like ya, and I hope we keep you,” he reached forward, winding his arm over her shoulders. “Come on, the other whelps will be excited to meet you.”

***

Ara exhaled lightly, finishing the closing circle on the ground and pushing her way further into the darkness, the small blue orb of her spell flitting about her head like a moth. Sleep had not come easy that night, and she had spent several hours tossing and turning before finally acquiescing to her nightmares. Jorrvaskr had been deathly still as she stalked through the corridors, the long, cold hallways of the basement almost menacing as she slipped away.

She knew she should have been happy at the way things turned out; at her having done well enough to be accepted by the guild of warriors, and for Farkas’ easy, if still somewhat tentative, friendship. She also _should_ have been happy about there being so many like her around now, but having to keep it a secret put a pretty good damper on that. _No wonder Hircine wants the alp-Vilkas, back in line._ If Vilkas was indulgent of the blood, his pack as a whole would be stronger, thus giving Hircine more power. _Pft, power_ , she scoffed to herself.

But she pushed her troubled thoughts away as she stooped to examine the remains of the carcass at her feet. The cave was blind, the single entrance and exit behind her, and was not exactly large, which made the clutter of bones on top of the already thick vegetation seem even more grisly. There had, at one point, been human inhabitants of the cave, as the small ledge that sat at the back still featured a firepit and several bedrolls, but she pushed those gruesome thoughts away.

_Aela said four_ , she remembered her and the huntress's conversation the night prior, and though currently empty, the single cavern would see the trolls return at some point. And soon. Dawn was not far off, and with the cave’s proximity to the city, she expected that they’d retreat to the relative safety of their hovel near daybreak. Beyond that, the bones were fresh, meaning the cave was most definitely still occupied, and she suppressed a shiver of disgust. She hadn’t tangled with trolls often, and for good reason. Trolls were vicious and deadly. And they stank. Her face screwed in displeasure at the stink in the cave, but she had to breathe after all, and it was her short intake of breath that alerted her to an arrival behind her.

“Can’t even stay for one night before running off?” _Vilkas._ The stench in the cave had nearly overwhelmed his scent as he’d approached her, but he’d seen fit to speak before her mind had fully wrapped around the fact that he was behind her. She was just grateful she hadn’t jumped at his words.

_Oh look who finally decides to give chase again,_ she thought tiredly, almost giving in to the petty need to state what was on her mind. “I couldn’t sleep.” _Coward,_ she chided herself. She wanted to add that she knew he had the same troubles as well, his eyes told her so, but she thought better of it. “Aela sent me here,” she added, instead. Her orb blinked out, the spell spent, but she didn’t really need it, not with her blood, and she wasn’t surprised that he was regarding her with displeasure. _How unusual,_ she thought sardonically.

“You realize they’ll know you were in here?” He crossed his arms as he quirked an eyebrow over his scowl.

“They aren’t timid or easily scared. If anything, a foreign scent could draw them back sooner,” she tried to sound bored, knowing full-well that he’d be able to sense her racing heartbeat anyway, but was nonetheless pleased when she succeeded. He seemed to consider her words for a moment, and she thought she might have seen a spark of agreement, or, gods-forbid, approval, in his eyes, but it was gone as soon as it appeared. “Why did you follow me?” She knew it wasn’t because he was worried for her, which left the only reason as because he thought she wasn’t capable.

“Does anyone else know you’re a wolf?” _Wrong again._ His words dumbfounded her. He’d followed her here to talk about _that?_

“How should I know?” She could feel herself getting irritated and, despite not having a real reason for it, she held onto it. “I haven’t told anyone, so unless someone _overheard_ you, then-”

“A simple ‘no’ would have sufficed,” his scowl deepened, and she felt a trickle of his power kiss along her skin, but she glared right back.

“Why did you follow me?” She repeated the question he’d so blatantly ignored.

“I want to know why you’re here, and what you’ve done to me.” He said it so casually and matter-of-factly that she again had trouble comprehending what it was that had left his mouth. “And if not here, then where?”

_Ah, right._ She _had_ said that in the training yard yesterday afternoon. _But wait…_ “What I’ve d-” She knew her face looked ridiculous as it screwed in confusion, but she didn’t care. “What are you talking about? I’ve done nothing to yo-” Several low grunts and growls stilled her words. _Of course they would come back now, damnit!_

“How many?” Vilkas had drawn his sword as he turned and backed beside her.

“Four,” she answered, somewhat stunned at how fluidly he had changed from angry wolf to calculating warrior. Still, she tried to ignore it as she drew her bow.

“ _Four?_ _Adults?_ ” Vilkas growled as he eyed her, suddenly furious, though she couldn’t comprehend why.

“Aela didn’t specify,” she growled back at him.

“Let’s hope not then,” his tone was more than a little condescending as he stepped in front of her, as if to shield her from the incoming beasts, and she felt her face twist with irritation. Even if it _was_ an unconscious action on his part, she scowled at him anyway as she stepped to his side.

Full-throated growls told them the trolls had sensed their invasion of the cave, and she felt a tug at the back of her mind at the same time he made to dash forward. “Wait! Vilkas, no!” She threw herself at him, tackling into his side as she grasped at his arms, but his strength and size carried them forward a few paces before they finally toppled to the ground, and she landed on top of him with a grunt.

“ _What_ are you-” They were both blown backward as the rune she’d planted was activated, and the smell of burnt hair mingled with that of the man as they landed again, him on top of her this time.

_One down, and you’re welcome_ , she thought bitterly, trying to shake the ringing from her ears. Vilkas growled his displeasure at her as he lifted himself, but he was suddenly, and forcefully, pulled from atop her, his pained cry leaving a new kind of ringing. His hands grappled for his sword, catching on a strap on her armor and hauling her up as he was hauled backward, and she was able to see the troll that had him. Its claws had found purchase just above his greave, and he cried out again as the troll yanked him again, its claws sinking further into his knee.

“Stay down!” She threw her hand forward as she lunged after him. _Svíða._ The thought pulled her magic through her, lighting her arm and hand from within before exploding outward at the troll. It shrieked in pain, releasing Vilkas as it threw itself backward from her flames, and she grasped his hand to yank him up as he scrambled back towards her. But the other two beasts were quick to give chase, and she struggled out from beneath him as she shoved at his side. “Damnit!” She seethed; the trolls were closer than she expected, rendering a fireball too dangerous to use.

Lightning wasn’t as effective, but it jolted them enough that Vilkas had time to clamber over her and to his sword, and he hauled her to her feet alongside him as the shock wore off and the trolls charged forward again. “Time to put that to use!” He shouted, not bothering to look at her as he lunged forward to meet the first in a clash of steel and claws. She scrambled for her bow and grasped at her… empty quiver.

Her arrows had, of course, been strewn across the cave floor upon her being blown backward, and she rolled to the side, dodging the first swipe of the troll that descended on her. She had no doubt that the arrow she’d managed to grab would fly askew, as the shaft was cracked and the fletching caked with dirt, but she readied and fired anyway. _Damnit!_ It spun outward and low, glancing the troll’s shoulder. Her flames gave it a moment’s pause, which she used to rush for other arrows, and her second struck true. Well, true- _er_. The troll went slightly cross-eyed as the arrow lodged in its thick browbone, just below its center eye, but it stilled in confusion, giving her time enough to line up a shot that did _not_ miss.

It howled in pain as it brought its misshapen hands to its face, simultaneously leaving its fleshy stomach unprotected, and she drew her dagger. Another howl echoed briefly, cut short by a sharp crack and sordid squish, but Ara forced herself to remain focused on the soft, very much exposed, underside of the troll before her as she shot forward. It weighed more than her, undoubtedly, and her shoulder exploded with pain as she careened into it and they tumbled to the ground; but her dagger found its target, cutting through the soft tissues and sinking up to its hilt.

It forgot about its eye, naturally, and it threw its arms downward onto her in an effort to fling her away. She was pushed backwards beneath the force, her dagger dragging downward and effectively spilling its viscera into her lap as it tried to raise up after her. _Oh gods_. She fought the bile that immediately rose, throwing flames forward once more despite knowing it couldn’t heal what simply wasn’t there, but it was Vilkas’ shout to her that ultimately distracted her from her retching.

“If you’re done!” He managed to gasp the words out, and she turned in time to see him flail backwards, his wounded knee giving out and causing him to nearly trip over the troll he’d already slain. _Oh good, he’s fine._ The troll left was the one that had grabbed him, and she could see now that it was actually larger than him; she watched in part horror-part fascination as the gashes from Vilkas’ sword stopped seeping before her eyes, and realized she didn't have a choice. _Shit._

“Get back!” She didn’t wait to make sure he heard her as she watched the palm of her hand explode in fire, the angry reds and oranges coiling around and flipping in on themselves as the fireball formed, but she was relieved to see him dive away as she threw it forward and it exploded against the massive troll’s side. It bellowed in pain, flying sideways and into the wall before landing in a heap with a muted grunt. She followed it up with another bout of flames, gritting her teeth against the heat that was becoming almost unbearable in her arm, but she couldn’t risk its regeneration getting it back on its feet before Vilkas got to his. Thankfully, she didn’t have to wait long.

Ara could see it moving, thrashing beneath her magic’s onslaught, and she waited until the very last moment before quenching the flames; Vilkas’ strike was powerful, his sword sinking with a swift, hollow crack into the side of its enormous head, and it finally laid still.

“Thank you.” The words were clipped, like it hurt him to say them, and she struggled to keep her expression devoid of the irritation that welled anew.

“Fire negates their regeneration,” she said simply. He probably knew that, of course he knew that, but what else was she supposed to say? “You’re welcome,” she added, just as begrudgingly. He was infuriating, but at least recognized her magic served a purpose. A helpful one at that. It was a start.

“What exactly would you have done on your own? What was your plan?” He turned on her, his face awash in blood and fury.

_The nerve of this man!_ She jumped to her feet. “Is that why you came here? To admonish me further?” She squinted her eyes shut as she immediately pulled her hand to her mouth. _Damnit! Don’t give him more ammunition_. But the fetid smell of the troll’s innards swiftly reminded her of where exactly her hands had been, and she retched involuntarily again. _Ugh_ , _I’m covered in it._ But Vilkas didn’t seem to care as he grabbed her by the shoulders the next moment.

“I already told you,” his face betrayed his disgust at the smell, and she felt a sick sort of satisfaction. _Serves you right._ But he regained his composure quickly, swallowing hard and breathing audibly through his mouth. “I _came here_ to find out what you’ve done to me.”

Despite the situation, she felt her mouth drop open. “I’d love to answer you, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.” But his look of indignation as his fingers dug into her shoulders sent her over the edge. “I’ve done nothing to you!” She shoved on his chest, surprised when he merely took half a step backward, and her wolf growled in the back of her mind; a comforting presence, reminding she only needed to be called.

“No!” He jerked her harshly, as if to rattle her into giving an answer he deemed satisfactory, and she winced under the pressure of his grip. She’d have bruises later, she knew, and she pushed her hands to his chest again without thinking. “This must be magic, a spell… I don’t know! It’s _beyond_ what my wolf desires! You are _everywhere_ , I can’t es-”

“I didn’t…” her spirit roiled helplessly in her chest, but she didn’t get to finish before his mouth snapped shut as if he seemed to be seeing her anew; he turned his head forcefully to the side, inhaling deeply through his nose, and his grip on her shoulders loosened before ultimately releasing and he withdrew from her. He stepped back, holding his hands up slightly for just a moment before crossing his arms over his chest, and Ara could do nothing but stare at him in shock.

She’d heard snippets of conversation, suggestions and hints of his anger, and his propensity for brooding, and then for oscillating back and forth between the two, but she had taken it all with a grain of salt, outright dismissing most of it, in fact. After all, how could he be alpha to so many if he couldn’t control hi-

“Why are you here?” His voice shattered the silence in the cave once again, drawing her from her upsetting and confusing thoughts, and she forced herself to meet his gaze. His silver eyes were dark, yet she could see the emotions roiling just beneath the surface, reflecting in them as clouds reflect the fury of a storm. The defiant part of her wanted to push, to know what it was he insisted she’d done, and why his demeanor had suddenly changed so drastically. But another part of her suggested she should leave well enough alone, even if it was just this once, and, just this once, she heeded the latter.

“I-I’m looking for something.” It wasn’t a lie, and she knew he’d sense that.

“Is that all?” His voice was calm, though the storm of emotion still raged within his eyes, and it seemed as if he struggled to accept the words she was saying, despite his outward façade.

“It wasn’t,” she admitted, “but I… the other matters little now.” Despite herself, she felt the telltale burn behind her eyes and in her nose, and blinked furiously against the impending tears. “Your opinion of me is clear.” She shook her head as she looked away, trying to pull herself together and at least be able to leave the cave with some of her pride intact. This wasn’t how she’d imagined things at all.

“You know nothing of me, whelp.” His biting words did nothing to help her stem the tears threatening, but he thankfully continued, rather than leave her to respond. “You’ve been welcomed into the Companions, and you _might_ just make it. But if you do anything to threaten them, by magic or otherwise,” he paused, remaining silent long enough that she finally had to look up to make sure he was still in front of her.

“If I was here to cause harm, why would I save _you_ , of all people?” The words left her mouth before she could stop them, her anger and irritation and exhaustion and… who knew what else, getting the better of her, and she berated herself inwardly. She didn’t shy away from him, from the words, though, because they were true, and she felt a knot of tension in between her shoulder blades release when his demeanor changed yet again.

His hands fell to his sides, the darkened emotion in his eyes gone once more, and he suddenly seemed… tired. Or dispirited. She wasn’t sure which. Whatever it was he had going on in his head, she knew she didn’t envy him. “Then we have an understanding,” he made to turn on his heel, wincing lightly at the fresh blossom of pain from his injured knee, and she stepped toward him automatically.

“Let me help-” she reached forward, but he caught her wrist, turning her arm aside with a shocking gentleness.

“I’ll heal just fine without your magic.” She could tell he was trying to keep from sounding too dismissive as he released her wrist, and she let her hand fall away as she watched him do his best to hide the limp as he headed for the exit.

“Not without shifting,” she muttered, irritated beyond measure at the damned Nord’s pride. She saw him stop momentarily and give a slight glance backward to her – he’d heard her of course – and she felt a fresh tickle of power wash over her skin, stronger this time than before. But he ultimately said nothing as he continued his limp for the exit; she almost groaned when she saw him stop and fully glance back at her before entering the short tunnel that would lead him outside, his eyebrows raised in question.

But she smirked lightly; there was a reason he was dubbed the brains of Ysgramor. “It was just the one,” she affirmed, absently noting the relief that pushed into his features as she took to gathering the rest of her arrows, and when she looked up again, he was gone, leaving her alone with the troll carcasses. _Well,_ _might as well._ At least the skins would give her something to show for… whatever it was that had just happened.

* * *

Vilkas had limped back into a very slowly-rousing Jorrvaskr, for which he was thankful; he’d been able to collect himself and dress his wound in privacy, without the incessant questions he was sure he’d have received otherwise, and was seated upstairs in his usual spot by the fire before the first of the others had trudged sleepily upstairs for breakfast.

_This wasn’t how it was supposed to be,_ Vilkas thought sourly. He kept replaying Ara’s words in his head, her features flashing in his memory. He wanted to believe that she hadn’t done anything to him, but also couldn’t shake the need to make her responsible in some way for what he had been reduced to since she’d come into his life. The raw confusion in her eyes, and the pure scent of her anxiety, seemed to indicate the former, and he sighed heavily. That, or she honestly believed she’d done nothing wrong. _That has to be it._

The thought didn’t make him feel better though. His gut twisted painfully at the unadulterated disappointment and dejection he’d seen in her eyes when she’d more or less admitted he _had_ been one of the reasons she’d come. _Fuck, I’ve made a right mess of things._

“Where’d you get off to so-” Vilkas groaned inwardly as Kodlak appeared beside him, but the old man stopped, frozen in a half-seated position as he inhaled sharply. “You’re injured.”

“Yes, but it’s nothing.” Vilkas didn’t look at him as he finally eased down into the seat with a huff.

“You followed her, didn’t you?” His Harbinger already knew the answer, and so he remained quiet, pushing his half-eaten food away, no longer in the mood to eat. But Kodlak was unimpressed, and undeterred, naturally, by his brooding, and smirked at him as he poked a piece of meat off of his plate. “Her doing, or yours?”

Vilkas contemplated his answer for a moment; it was her rune, but he also knew better than to go charging into the midst of four trolls. “A bit of both, I suppose,” he said finally.

“Hm. And how’d she do? Aela gave her the troll thing, right?” Kodlak seemed distracted, like the choice of which piece of Vilkas’ food he was going to take next was the most important decision of recent memory.

“She used magic,” he said disaffectedly, raising an eyebrow and scooting his plate closer to the old man. “There was more fire than there were arrows.”

“Mm, lucky for you,” Kodlak’s words were slightly garbled as he spoke through another mouthful, and Vilkas felt his mouth drop open.

“Lucky for _me?_ ” Surely he’d heard him wrong. “How do you figure?”

“Magic or not, fire is the best way to beat trolls. You know that.” Kodlak speared another piece of sausage with his knife. “And it _was_ effective, was it not?” The old warrior glanced down at Vilkas’ knee, though he knew the answer already; there was a fresh bandage wound around it beneath his trousers, and Vilkas was forced to admit it would have been a lot worse, if not for her casting.

_Damnit._ Vilkas leaned heavily against the back of his chair, his arms crossed. “Aye.”

“And her skill otherwise?” The Harbinger seemed through picking at Vilkas’ plate for the moment, laying the knife down as he looked over at him.

“It was as she said,” he admitted begrudgingly. “She has some skill.” He didn’t like admitting it, but she’d handled herself well, from what he had seen; he’d been busy, after all. “She’s got guts, too,” he eyed the old man next to him, a wry grin on his face as the vestiges of a plan began to form.

“Oh?” Kodlak took his rather obvious bait.

“She went after one with nothing but her dagger.” He tried to sound disinterested, silently hoping and praying Kodlak would respond as he expected. He did.

“That’s not guts. That’s stupid.” It sounded as if the Harbinger’s anger was directed at Vilkas, and perhaps part of it was, considering he probably knew what Vilkas was doing. “Vilkas, get her trained with a proper blade, and don’t take your eyes off of her until she is.” Kodlak gave him a hard look before rising from his seat, and Vilkas acknowledged the order with a nod of his head, doing his best to look nothing but the dutiful son. But when Kodlak’s back finally turned and the old man headed for the stairs, Vilkas couldn’t suppress the wide grin that broke out over his features.

“Aye,” he said. To no one in particular.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late post and then the immediate edit. I had a bit of trouble with this chapter, due to a sudden lack of direction and inspiration. If you've made it this far, thanks for staying with me!


	9. The Best Laid Plans

The constant buzzing and throbs of pain in his temples forced Vilkas to finally accept that he was awake. Gods, how much had he drunk last night? _Too much_. He groaned as he rolled to his stomach and buried his face in his pillow, unwilling to leave the comfort of his bed just yet. The gentle, sweet scent of fresh rushes wafted through the down of his bed and pillow, and he smiled softly, despite himself.

Ara had done an excellent job of cleaning his room, from what he could remember of having seen it in his drunken stumble to bed hours before. Previously, he would have had to pick his way carefully through, so as not to trip over anything, a feat that had taken all of his considerable willpower to accomplish; he’d despised letting his room become a complete, utter, rather shameful, disaster, but the look on her face when he’d told her it was her job to clean it had been worth it.

The fresh rushes had been a surprise though, and, as he had fallen asleep, they had lent to a rather pleasant illusion he was out on the prairie, beneath the stars in the rare warmth of a summer night, instead of the cold basement of the mead hall he called home. He clung to the fading vestiges of the illusion, inhaling as deeply as his pillow would allow him, and absently wishing that the illusion, and the dream that had been borne from it, could be real.

But it couldn’t, and a growl of discontent rumbled in his chest. The she-wolf – _Ara,_ he chided himself – was not his, and never would be, save for in his dreams. There, it didn’t matter that she used magic, or that she bested him at every turn; in his dreams, he could allow himself to be appreciative of her willful pride, so like his own, and of her continual ability to turn his machinations around on him – without having to admit that it only made his longing for her more intense. Because dreams weren’t reality. No, the reality of it for him was much worse.

The nameless, faceless woman that had haunted his dreams for so long was no longer faceless. No longer nameless. He knew her name, and the sound of her voice. Knew the true feeling of the tickle of her breath on his ear, and how she felt beneath him, and atop him – though, admittedly, those had come about in drastically different situations than his fantasies twisted the memories into. The reality of it was that she was everything he imagined. _And more_ , he thought, almost bitterly; he had been hopelessly unprepared for her stubborn, willful nature, or for her intelligence and pride that rivaled his own in their intensity.

She had arrived back in Whiterun well after him, hours after his conversation with Kodlak, all those weeks ago, and the memory of the look on her face when he’d found her and told her she’d be stuck in Whiterun to train and follow orders nearly made him chuckle to himself. And he would have, except that he then remembered how her face had darkened just before throwing a satchel of coin at him – a portion of the gold from the troll pelts she’d salvaged, he’d found out later – and storming away.

He had had little idea that her slight display of rebellion was a precursor to what would happen in the weeks following; there was no way for him to have known just what he had started, not really. Which, it _had_ started innocently enough, he reasoned with himself. He had bade her sort and stack armor and weapons as punishment for hitting him in the face with the sack of coin, ensuring she knew that she was to clean and oil them all first, and it had taken the better part of three days for her to finish everyone’s. He’d been right pleased with himself, thinking perhaps she’d gotten the idea that insolence wouldn’t be tolerated. That is, until he’d gathered his armor to set out on a job with Farkas.

He’d detected the bottlebrush pollen she’d mixed with the oil too late, of which, she’d known full-well the reaction it would elicit from his wolf; indeed, he’d been too busy sneezing and coughing to make it out of Jorrvaskr let alone go with his brother on the job – unless he was willing to wear something other than his favorite set. _“Is your armor satisfactory?”_ The memory of her doe-eyed question and his brother and other shield-siblings laughing hysterically at him made his jaw clench involuntarily in irritation, and he hissed through the pain that erupted in the base of his skull because of the action.

But, as if to add salt to the wound that that had left in his pride, he’d soon found out he wasn’t the only one she’d messed with, just the only one she’d been nefarious towards. Farkas had rather liked the effect her mischief had caused; when the mages from his and Farkas’ contract ignited the volatile ambergris and oil mixture she’d used on his twin’s greatsword, they’d met their end at the flaming blade of an angry Nord. Even Kodlak had been amused, more at Vilkas’ once again damaged pride than anything, but the old man had then sat with Skjor and the others to discuss practical ways to use the trick to the Companions’ advantage. Vilkas didn’t disagree with the utility of such a trick necessarily, but that’s exactly what it was, a _trick_ , and his irritation at her had soared.

The pain in his head lessened somewhat as a swell of smugness rose from his belly. He’d assuaged his annoyance with her by making her assist Tilma after that, citing that the old woman and her few helpers already had enough to do without Ara’s additional mouth to feed and body to clean up after. That, he mused, had worked out brilliantly. He’d found multiple ways of stymying her, giving her this, that, or another order or mess to clean up no sooner than she’d returned from one of her own jobs; he’d even half expected Ara to hit him when he’d informed her _she’d_ needed to tend his room so Tilma could tend dinner preparations the night previous.

He’d ate and drank and made merry with his brother and shield-siblings, uncaring of how many hours passed before he’d even noticed she had still not come up to join them. A brief moment of curiosity had him wondering why it had taken her so long, his room wasn’t _that_ large, after all, but he pushed it away as he cracked an eye. His room was dark, thankfully, as the stab of pain that shot into his head would have been ten-fold worse had there been much more than the soft glow coming from beneath his door.

It was still early enough that most were still asleep, he knew, his keen hearing picking up the light snores of his brother across the hall, and the light shuffling of books and thick vellum pages as Kodlak no doubt continued his study of… whatever he was researching at the moment. He’d had Ara fetch a couple of books from the Jarl’s court wizard, Vilkas remembered then, also remembering he’d forgotten to ask Kodlak about that. _No matter_.

Ara had been sent on many little ‘nothing’ jobs, mostly errands, or intimidation contracts for people who were causing problems for others, though Aela had given her a few other animal den ones as well. In fact, now that he thought about it, she’d done whatever had been asked of her, and performed remarkably well, always; he’d been won’t to acknowledge it, given that he was constantly peeved at her.

But Vilkas pushed the errant thoughts away and eased up slowly, waiting for the spinning in his head to calm before swinging his legs over the side of the bed and standing. He said a silent prayer of thanks for his enhanced physical capabilities as he rubbed his face in his hands, for without them, he’d be feeling a lot worse than he…

He stopped suddenly, his face still half-covered; he wasn’t sure why he had chosen then, of all times, to recognize exactly how many aspects of his life his wolf touched. He tried to shake the disquieting thoughts away, causing the world to tilt a bit too far for his liking, but it also served to rouse him from said thoughts, and he managed to get himself undressed without throwing up. The water in the basin was an off shade of gray by the time he finally finished washing, and he briefly considered reapplying the dark warpaint he’d just scrubbed off. _Ah._ He reached for a clean pair of trousers absently, his mind again turning to thoughts of his wolf, and of Ara, and of his frustration at his inability to control said thoughts and the wanton desires that they often brought forth.

He huffed down onto his bed, realizing with slight chagrin he’d grabbed a shirt instead. _Agh, my head… drank more than I thought._ He slid the soft cotton over his head, groaning inwardly as the light perfume of flowers assaulted his nose. Tilma must have accidentally washed some of his clothing with the girls’, since the old woman knew he most certainly had no desire to smell of daisies. He stood, opening his wardrobe wide and sliding the neatly folded pants into a basket; he’d have Ara re-wash th-

His eyes alighted on the small, white bud that fell gently from the wardrobe into the basket, and he suddenly understood. _Wait_ , _why are my pants in…?_ He glanced at his shirt before dropping the basket and forcefully pulling a drawer of his dresser open. Shirts; in the dresser, where his pants should have been, and pants likewise where his shirts should have been. He glanced around his room as if with new eyes. _Nothing_ was where it should have been; his books stood in a neat row on the shelf on his wall, while the plates and cups that should have been in their place now resided on his bookshelf; his quills and vellum on his night table as opposed to at his desk, which was where his shield rested among unopened bottles of mead. He didn’t bother looking to see what she’d hung on his shield rack. _Damnit!_

“ARA!” He bellowed, sliding pants on and throwing his door open. He stumbled backward as the brighter light of the hallway shattered his mind through his eyes, and he was forced to stand there, holding his head and leaning against his doorframe until the worst of the pain subsided.

The slight groan of a door indicated Farkas’ presence before he spoke. “What’s wr-” but the words stopped, half formed in his brother’s throat, and Vilkas looked up to see his brother looking both confused and highly amused as he rested his cheek over his hand on the edge of his door. “Didn’t think you one for flowers, Vil.”

“What?” Vilkas had to squint through his pain and irritation, but Farkas just reached forward and plucked a tiny daisy bud from the cloth covering his shoulder, holding it in front of him as if it explained everything. “Where’s Ara?” Vilkas growled, swatting his twin’s hand away before pulling his shirt over his head angrily and tossing it to the ground as he stormed into the hallway. Maybe he could find her before anyone else saw, or smelled, him.

Of course, he wasn’t sure what he was going to do with her yet, as was so often the case with the infuriating woman, but he barged into the whelp’s dormitory anyway. “Ara, I swear to Ysmir…” the door slammed against the endposts of the bed nearest, though his snarled words were still clear above it.

“What in the actual fuck, Vilkas?” Myrrh glared her displeasure, kicking the door away from her bed and back against his arm as Njada and Leah sat up groggily.

“Ooh, all cleaned up for the new girl!” He ignored the comment, unsure which of the women in the room had made it. No, he was intent on finding his quarry and even his wolf, surprisingly, ignored the wafts of arousal he began to detect.

“Where is Ara?” His voice radiated the fury he felt in his chest as he glanced from bed to bed, hoping to spot her long chestnut locks or fiery eyes. But he was met instead with muddy browns and pale blues, a few amber and green ones, or, in Myrrh’s case, decidedly murderous looking rust ones.

“She left, early.” Vilkas spun around to find Ria, her sleep-swollen eyes betraying obvious desire as she, too, sat up, and Vilkas realized the final assault to his pride with some trepidation; he had stormed into a room full of women, half naked, trousers still unlaced, and smelling of daisies. He managed to restrain the flush of crimson surging to his cheeks until he’d safely stalked from the room, leaving the giggles and hushed whispers, and licentious snarks, behind him as the door clicked closed; but his frustrated sigh sounded more like a groan as he sank into the seat opposite Kodlak outside the Harbinger’s room a few moments later.

“I take it things haven’t quite worked out the way you pictured, eh boy?” Kodlak didn’t look up from the smooth vellum pages of the book in his hands, which Vilkas was thankful for, as he couldn’t keep the withering expression from his features. _The best laid plans,_ he sighed dispiritedly.

“What are you talking about?” He tried to collect his scattered composure and piece together what little was left of his pride.

“Don’t play stupid with me boy, it was never your strong suit,” Kodlak’s eyes were scathing as he looked up from the tome in his lap. “You have done more than the simple instruction I gave you weeks ago. Regarding our newest recruit.” Kodlak hadn’t needed to add the last bit, Vilkas had known what the man meant immediately.

“Aye, I suppose I have,” he growled. 

“Whatever your reasons for your actions, only time will tell if you’ve yet realized your miscalculations of her, or yourself,” Kodlak said dismissively, returning to the pages before him, and Vilkas grumbled under his breath as he crossed his arms over his chest; apparently it wasn’t enough for her to best him in front of everyone that first day, he just had to keep making things worse for himself.

“Where is she?” Vilkas finally asked, feeling as if his voice was out of place against his Harbinger’s concentration. “Ria said she left-”

“To see the Jarl’s steward. It seems, despite your best efforts, she has earned a bit of her own reputation in Whiterun. She was summoned to Dragonsreach,” Kodlak, again, did not look up from his book.

“How so?” Vilkas winced at the heavy sigh the older man gave as he eased the book closed and set it to rest on the table beside him, and Vilkas frowned a half-hearted apology for interrupting even as he raised his eyebrows expectantly.

“The precious little time she’s had to herself has been well spent,” Kodlak explained vaguely. “Adrianne and that girl that’s always in the market, I can’t recall her name, both speak very highly of her. And to hear Farkas tell it, Hulda has a new set of little hands to wash tankards while Whiterun has one less citizen sleeping in the streets. Merrick even heard from a guard that she managed to sort out Uthgerd,” Kodlak gave a wistful chuckle.

Vilkas felt his eyebrows raise in surprise, the black eye and split lip Ara had returned with just days ago suddenly making more sense, but it was quickly overtaken by a more uncomfortable emotion. Uthgerd had, at one time, been a hopeful candidate for entry into the Companions, and Vilkas frowned at the sore memory; she had killed Reid during her testing, albeit accidentally, and had been swiftly refused because of it, and Vilkas knew that she still bore a grudge against the whole of the guild. That Ara had gone up against her, even if it had been outside of her Companion duties, made his stomach twist in a way he wasn’t accustomed to. “Doesn’t explain why the Jarl wanted to see her,” he said curtly, pushing the feeling away.

“She’s known as well as you or me throughout the city, except people call her by her name instead of her title as a Companion.” His brother’s voice was accompanied by a set of clothing, that did _not_ smell of daisies, hitting him in the face. _What’s with people throwing things at my head?_ He scowled. “And people call _me_ icebrain.” Kodlak gave a small smirk as Farkas took up a seat near them, and he rolled his eyes in feigned annoyance.

“And you have no idea what about?” Vilkas’ returned his attention to Kodlak, ignoring the face his brother made at him.

“No,” Kodlak assured him, raising an eyebrow at his unusual insistence, “but I’m sure she will enlighten us when she returns.”

“Well, _us¸_ maybe,” Farkas indicated towards himself and Kodlak. “Him I don’t know about.” Vilkas wanted to wipe that damnable grin off of his twin’s face, but Kodlak spoke before he could formulate an appropriately scathing response.

“Daisies, was it?” Kodlak’s tone served to sever the tension and he glanced over at the old man, sliding the shirt on in an effort to disguise the embarrassment welling in his chest, but he winced again under the old man’s knowing gaze as he adjusted his sleeves.

“Aye,” he responded.

“Suits him, yeah?” Farkas’ words were slightly garbled through a mouthful of the apple he’d snatched from the tabletop, but he could hear the barely disguised rumbling in his brother’s chest and his mood soured further. He loved and trusted his brother beyond all others in the world, but he knew very well that Farkas also thoroughly enjoyed the way Ara continued to foil his efforts to get back at and embarrass her, in turn embarrassing him instead, and he honestly couldn’t get over how his brother found such easy comradery with her.

He and Farkas had always shared the same opinions of magic, or so he’d thought, but Ara’s magic use didn’t seem to perturb his brother in the least. In fact, it seemed almost the opposite, as he found her with him almost as often as he saw her with Aela. But it wasn’t just Farkas’ acceptance of her magic that irked him about his brother spending so much time with her; he’d never admit it to anyone, he’d scarcely admitted it to himself even, but he was envious of the way his brother always managed to sidle in with people so quickly. And with Ara, it was ten-fold worse.

“I think Vilkas’ pride has suffered enough this morning,” Kodlak said, giving him an appraising glance. “Mayhap having some time away from here would be good, for the both of you. That is, if the Jarl has a contract for us, which I suspect he does.”

“You aren’t going to send her?” Vilkas didn’t even try to hide his blatant surprise, though he agreed wholeheartedly with her not being sent on a longer contract.

“She’s already far surpassed the other whelps with a bow. And she’s taken to the longsword better than most expected.” Farkas’ expression as he said so dared him to argue the point, and he heard Kodlak grunt his admission. “Aela and Merrick are gone, as are most of the senior Companions…” Farkas didn’t have to finish. Skjor was there, but he wouldn’t go with a whelp. _Not unless he knew she had the blood… no._ No. That was a road he wasn’t going to go down with the old wolf. Not yet. Not at all, if he could help it.

“Aye. But there’s still you and me,” Vilkas had meant it to be sarcastic, but had failed miserably in the delivery, drawing a groan from Farkas and a heavy sigh from Kodlak. “What? How is it you can say she’s ready when she relies so heavily on her magic use to complete jobs?” Vilkas really wanted to know. He didn’t have proof, but she’d returned from so many of her contracts thus far without so much as a scratch that he couldn’t accept she didn’t.

Any reply Kodlak or his brother offered was lost to him as her scent hit him; lilies and ash. Yet, surprisingly, despite the sweet sting of the scent, it didn’t split his head like the perfumed blossoms earlier had. “Because I don’t use it on people who don’t deserve it.” Her voice washed over them a moment later, sending shivers of heat down his spine to his stomach, and causing his wolf to press wantonly into his subconscious when she appeared in the doorway. _Damnit. No._

“Ah, our sister returns,” Kodlak’s voice was rather animated as he turned to the young woman at the same time Vilkas looked up at her; he’d half-expected to see the same dismissal her voice had held, but her face was instead impassive, pleasant even, as she regarded Kodlak; Vilkas was immediately suspicious. “Seems the Jarl kept you waiting,” Kodlak gestured to the chair beside Farkas.

“Not exactly,” she said, giving a small smile to the old man but ignoring the offered seat. “Sorry it took so long, but Eorlund stopped me on my way in,” her apology was soft, and she frowned slightly as she produced a weapon from behind her back and held it out to him; Vilkas had completely forgotten he’d given it to her the day before to take to the smith. His eyes narrowed as he glanced lightly from her to the sheathed blade, and then to his brother and Harbinger, who also seemed to be regarding her with cautious confusion. “Eorlund says you can return to splitting hairs with it, but asked me to tell you to ‘remember the importance of where’ before you do.”

_Damnit._ Kodlak just smirked as Farkas snorted his amusement, and labored coughing followed immediately as his brother fought not to choke on the fruit he’d been chewing; Vilkas snatched his sword from her hands before sinking back into his chair with a huff. “Hm,” he scowled. “Do you even know what that means?”

“It means you should be more attentive when you’re demolishing the dummies outside,” she said flatly, unimpressed by the surprise, and subsequent glare, on his features. “Unless I misinterpreted the book you gave me to read?” He’d _also_ forgotten he’d given her the book, to be honest, and his wolf growled within him, frustrated at his own arrogance this time. _You dolt._

“Good. I’m glad you read it,” he said dismissively. _Nice save._ His pride would survive this yet.

“Ahem, mmm,” Farkas finally managed to clear his throat, garnering a chuckle from Kodlak, and sat back against his chair with a heavy sigh. “So, what did the Jarl want?”

“The guards have been pestering him about a cave to the east. He’s tired of listening to them and would like whatever it is dealt with. Though he seems to think it’s nothing,” she worried the rounded hem of her tunic between her fingers, carefully avoiding looking directly at Kodlak, and Vilkas suppressed a chuckle; several of the guards had pleaded to him about the cave as well. “Apparently, the last guard to pester him said something about strange looking animals and sounds, but it seems like a bit of incensed superstition,” she sounded almost dismissive, and Vilkas saw his opportunity.

“But if something _were_ to come of it without us heeding and at least checking it out, it would be our fault,” he managed to sound irked while lacing the words with the suggestion that her dismissal was obviously in error – which it rather was – and he sat back in his chair, supremely satisfied when her cheeks flushed crimson in embarrassment.

But she handled it well, leveling her fiery eyes at him the next moment. “Of course you’re right, Vilkas.” _Fuck_. He growled low in his throat, trying to cling to the anger he felt at her managing to handle his jab at her with grace. But his heart was pounding, his stomach roiling as heat flared from the way his name sounded on her lips, she’d scarcely said his name at all now that he thought of it, and he was beyond thankful when Kodlak responded before he tried to.

“Indeed, no matter our thoughts on the validity, we are still obligated to take a look,” Kodlak gave him a warning glance before a kind expression returned to her, and his stomach dropped; he knew the look in Kodlak’s eyes. “I know Vilkas has been hard on you these last weeks, but you have performed well,” the old man paused, glancing at him again, “mischief aside.” Farkas snickered at the trembling corner of the Harbinger’s mouth, and Vilkas sunk lower in his seat.

“Thank you, and I meant no offense,” Ara shifted her weight from foot to foot almost nervously.

Kodlak only nodded his acceptance of her apology. “Go and prepare yourself for travel girl, you’ll be leaving soon. Find Vilkas when you’re ready." He glanced at Farkas before continuing, “you too.” The old man gave a tight smile to them both, nodding their dismissal as Farkas rose from his seat silently.

Vilkas bit the inside of his cheek when Farkas’ arm found its familiar spot on her shoulders as they walked away, and he forced himself to look at his Harbinger as his wolf growled against the back of his mind. “You’re sending three of us?” Indignant surprise mixed with the anger in his stomach, making his head spin. _Farkas is not a threat,_ he tried to calm himself. _He’s your brother, and she’s not yours._

“No Vilkas. You were going to clear out the old Fort on the road to Markarth. Or did you forget in your haste to wake the girls?” Kodlak’s tone was dismissive, and Vilkas very nearly began to sulk like a berated child. He managed to hang onto a thread of his anger, however, and leveled his gaze at the old man.

“I haven’t. But if she’s going to that cave then why tell her to find me?” He growled, earning a heavy, disheartened sigh from his Harbinger.

“Vilkas, I have not the words to rouse you from the discontent that has settled in you,” Kodlak stood wearily, his expression simply tired and betraying the proud warrior’s current frailty, “but words have never been able to do that for you, have they?” Kodlak’s expression changed to one of thoughtful kindness. “Whatever it is seems to be centered around that young woman,” he indicated after Ara with a slight nod, “so perhaps time away, without the burdens your shield-siblings place upon you to worry about, you might resolve it. You and her will clear the Fort, and Farkas will investigate the cave.” Kodlak paused, glancing after Ara again. “Unless you think you will need your brother’s help at the Fort? The missive did not detail numbers.”

Vilkas could only stare at him; a smattering of Forsworn could easily be handled by two wolves… _not that Kodlak knows she’s a wolf,_ he reminded himself. There was also the matter that he had decided to forego shifting – which Kodlak _did_ know. _By Ysmir… fuck._ Vilkas groaned inwardly. What exactly was the old man playing at?

Taking his silence for denial, Kodlak gave a small smile. “I suggest you gather your things and tell her where the two of you are going then,” he huffed, stretching his stiff limbs and giving him a last glance, “lest she up and leaves without you.”

Vilkas was caught between a smirk and a scowl then; somehow, he could picture her doing just that.

* * *

Ara threw her pack on the bed, huffing down beside it dejectedly as Farkas watched from the doorway, and she fidgeted with the strap on her armor as it dug uncomfortably into her chest, lost in her own muddled thoughts.

“What’s wrong? Thought you’d be elated to get out of Whiterun for a while,” the large man’s brow knit together in cautious confusion, but she was grateful for his words. She knew that she was just restless, and she wished desperately that she could tell Farkas why; there was nothing expressly keeping her from doing so, but she really had no idea how he, not to mention his pack, would react should her secret be revealed, though she was only too certain how their broody alpha would. Even so, it was getting harder to hide; her limited, short contracts were of such a nature that she hadn't the opportunity to shift, and beyond that, training had kept her so busy, and Vilkas had kept such a close eye on her, that she hadn’t even had the energy to sneak away for a hunt or run otherwise, and her wolf was dangerously restive. 

She got the distinct impression that Hircine was becoming truly displeased with her as well, if her nightmares were any indication. They had taken a decidedly darker turn, she knew, but she could only ever remember fire and darkness, silver eyes, followed by red, and then blood and death. _Her_ death, always, but she never saw the source. She’d wake each time with a terrible weight in her chest and questioning her own abilities and senses; questioning her own spirit. It was unnerving on the good days, and nearly crippling on the bad; she’d woken even earlier than usual that morning because of it, and she had been lucky to manage to stem Kodlak’s gentle questions for how tired she was.

“Hey.” Ara started when Farkas grabbed her chin lightly as he knelt down in front of her, turning her face to him. “What’s the deal?” His brows were still knit together, but she shook her head, letting herself fall forward and resting her forehead against his shoulder.

“Just tired, I guess,” she said disaffectedly. “I haven’t been sleeping well.”

“You aren’t the only one,” he said absently, stroking his large hand over her hair, and she sat back up, eyeing him warily. “Don’t give me that look. As if you didn’t know I’m exactly like my brother,” he raised his eyebrows in an off-handed form of placation. “It’s always made it more difficult to sleep.”

Ara swallowed hard as uncomfortable thoughts swirled in her mind; she’d not had such… distressing, nightmares before arriving. Was she already being affected by the alpha in Vilkas? By the unrest in his pack? Her stomach lurched at the thought; she needed to change the subject. “What has? The blood, or being his twin?” Her question and wry grin earned her a genuine laugh from Farkas, and he pulled her up with him as he straightened. “No but really, why aren’t you as grumpy as your brother then?”

“I’m not grumpy, I just have little patience for whelps who don’t listen.” _Right on cue,_ Ara thought with a light smirk; he had an uncanny knack for showing up precisely when she was thinking of him. Or did she think of him because she knew he was near? _No._ She shook her head against that rather disturbing thought before letting her forehead fall against Farkas’ shoulder again. She wasn't surprised that Vilkas made no comment about her and Farkas' topic of conversation; she knew that the twins' shared everything.  _Well, nearly everything_.

“I’ll be careful. I won’t use magic. And I won’t get anyone killed.” She didn’t look at Vilkas as she recited the words she’d said to him every time she’d prepared to leave on a job.

“Oh, I know,” Vilkas’ nonchalant acceptance surprised her, and she rolled her head to look at him, leaving her temple against his brother. Her confusion must have shown on her face, because he gave a smug smile. “You’ll be coming with me to Fort Sungard while Farkas investigates the cave.” She stiffened slightly, both at the words and because Farkas’ hand had suddenly moved to the back of her neck, drawing a rather surprising reaction from her wolf as his thumb brushed beneath her ear.

“The Forsworn?” Farkas’ voice was a rumble in her head, and Vilkas gave only a curt nod, his eyes on her. He was an expert at portraying a detached outward façade, but she felt his restlessness within her, mirroring her own. _This is going to be a disaster_ , she realized; she wouldn’t let him stop her from finally shifting while they were away, though she tried not to think about what exactly that conversation was going to sound like just then.

“Are you ready?” Vilkas gave her a slight appraisal, to which she nodded, but Farkas drew her into a hug before she could turn away.

“Stay safe, even if it means using magic,” his words barely stirred the hair around her ear; he did not want his brother to hear, apparently, and she nodded as she stepped back. “I mean it,” he cupped her face, his thumb stroking down her cheek, “Forsworn are dangerous. Don’t let his foolhardiness get you guys into trouble.” Power tickled across her skin, raising gooseflesh in its wake; whether it was from Vilkas or Farkas, she didn’t know, but she was suddenly thankful for the long sleeves of the tunic beneath her armor hiding the evidence of her reaction.

“Forsworn?” She glanced between the two men as an eager anticipation rapidly took root in her stomach, pushing the other emotion away. Forsworn were usually accompanied by a hagraven, and if not, would have information as to where the nearest one was; even if it didn’t lead her to the Glenmoril hags right away, she had but to follow the trail long enough and she’d find them. _Maybe it won’t be a complete disaster_ , she thought. Maybe she could salvage everything yet.

“The Fort is on the main road to and from Markarth,” Vilkas explained, rubbing his temple and rather obviously avoiding her gaze, “and since trade is Whiterun’s main source of coin, we’ve been asked to deal with the Forsworn harassing the caravans.”

“Forsworn are no problem,” she drew Farkas’ hand away and gave him a small smile, despite the decidedly dark tone she heard in her voice. “I’ll be just fine.”

* * *

“I don’t suppose I could talk you into _not_ whistling?” Vilkas looked sourly at her as he pulled the saddle from his horse. The shrill pitch her mouth made had driven a spike deeper into his brain with every trill; it was near dusk, and he’d put up with it since they left Whiterun near midday, he was done. But, not surprisingly, she didn’t seem to care, and simply rolled her eyes at him as she, too, pulled the saddle from her own horse.

“Are your hangovers usually this bad?” She had the gall to smirk at him as she asked, which, of course, made him scowl anew at her. “Why didn’t you at least drink a healing potion? Or, gods, even another ale?”

“It wouldn’t be this bad if I hadn’t had _daisies_ overwhelming my senses when I woke up,” he snarled at her, causing his horse to shy away. _Damnit._ He grabbed the halter, leaning his forehead against the dun-colored mare’s thick neck as he stroked along the horse’s soft hair. He wasn’t sure if he was trying to soothe the mare or himself, but was sure that he was failing either way, as the mare stamped impatiently in response to his wolf still growling against his mind.

He wasn’t at all prepared when the heat of Ara's body registered against his, but his instincts and speed at least allowed him to grab her wrist before her slender fingers wound their way through his hair. “What are you doing?”

“Just let me help, please?” Her voice was soft, contrasting the hard expression in her eyes, and his grip faltered. “You’re becoming unbearable.” _Of course,_ he frowned, _she would have to add the little barb._

“Then stop being irritating,” he scoffed back at her, but he was unable to hide his surprise when she vehemently resisted his attempt to pull her hand away.

“Ugh, really? Would you just put aside your pride for one gods-damned minute?” She seethed at him, her harsh words slicing through his already addled mind and drawing an involuntary wince from him. He stopped his rather lazy attempts to pull her hand away, but she didn’t pull it away of her own accord either. The silence between them then was an awkward one, and stretched for several moments, before he finally deigned to release her wrist. _It’s like Kodlak said_ , he reasoned with himself. None of his shield-siblings were here to judge his actions one way or another, so why shouldn’t he let her help him relieve some of the pain she herself had contributed to?

A tense sigh and light nod were all the acquiescence he was willing to give, and he nearly reneged when she stepped closer and her hand wove through his hair, joined by her other one opposite. Every one of his nerves was on fire, his wolf in rapt attention just beneath his consciousness, cautious, and yet yearning in a way he didn’t expect, though he should have. But if she detected his turmoil in any way, she didn’t give any indication, for which he was extremely thankful, and it was only a moment before her hair began to flutter softly. Similar to how it had the last time, the warmth that began in her hands eased its way into him, and he sighed unconsciously as it overtook the throbbing in his temples.

A spasm of pain made him hiss, but he made a snap decision to lean into her touch as it subsided, pushing past his reservations and self-doubt; at that moment he only cared that she did not move backward. The almost-forgotten sensation of cobwebs of tingles had replaced the previous cobwebs of pain as the warmth of her hands and her magic pushed his ills away - along with his good sense.

She was not that much shorter than him, so his lips had no trouble finding hers, and it was… nothing like he expected. She didn’t recoil, didn’t pull away, but nor did she react otherwise beyond a slight tickle of power kissing across his skin, which the wolf in him recognized, but that he refused to allow an answer to. His tongue flicked instinctively against her lips, and he was altogether surprised when they parted, granting him entrance to the sweet heat of her mouth. He was tentative and clumsy at first, afraid that if he pushed too much or too soon she would pull away, which was compounded when her actions mirrored his in their doubt. It seemed as if she wanted...  _something,_ as much as he, but was afraid of what might happen should she admit that want, should they both admit it.

Mere seconds passed, adding to the minutes that invariably followed, until time raced itself to a standstill; but uncertainty slowly bled to tentative acceptance, and her hands finally tensed to grip handfuls of his hair while he lamented his gloved gauntlets, wishing he could feel her skin beneath his fingers as he cupped her cheek. The freedom that came with the first of their respective barriers being breached saw them exploring each other's mouths, and, after excruciating patience on his part, she slowly grew to respond, reacting to his actions with her own light nip or soft sigh, but only after he initiated. After he prompted for them.

He had no expectations of her, and had no illusions about the invariable trouble that would come of it; he'd accept the consequences of the mistake he knew it would turn into, but he would do so later. Just then, he busied himself memorizing the way she tasted, vying to file it away even though he also already knew that it would forever be imprinted in him, the way her scent was. But a light, seemingly unprovoked whimper snapped him out of his reverie, and he mustered the courage to pull away, to look at her. Her hands moved to rest over his on her face, the question blatant in her eyes, and it was then he realized what exactly that whimper had been. But their moment was past, so he simply rested his forehead against hers. “Ara, I-”

 

“Are you alright?” He started, jolting out of his thoughts as Ara groggily sat up from her bedroll adjacent his perch by the fire. “What is it?” Her sleepy expression was laced with genuine concern, and he felt his chest grow tight as his stomach knotted painfully. “You’re… you seem shaken,” her words were gentle, which only served to intensify his feelings of unease. Of inadequacy.

“Mm, I’m…” _Just wishing for things that could never be,_ he winced internally, _some alpha I am_. “I’m fine.” _Liar._ The truth of his thought sat uneasily against his meager reassurance to her, and he figured she wouldn’t buy it; but she said nothing, and he saw her lay back down, though her eyes remained lazily fixed on him. He sighed lightly, resting his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward. She had done nothing but offer to soothe his hangover, which he had refused of course; he certainly hadn’t kissed her. Hell, she’d not come within arm’s reach the entire time they set up camp for the night, let alone given him his chance to... _Stop it,_ he scolded himself.

He stifled a groan as he rubbed his face in his hands; dreams he could accept, could handle, but _waking_ fantasies? Even tame ones… he’d end up getting himself killed, or someone else. Or her. _No, I’m not alright at all._


	10. Things Forgotten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I accidentally posted an older, draft version of this chapter that I had saved on my computer. And then, very belatedly, realized it and took it down, only to not actually re-post the right version. I, apparently, like to do things belatedly. Here's the right version (finally).  
> Mostly just the ending is different, there's still plenty of liberties taken when compared with in-game Fort Sungard. #oops

_‘Ara, I-’_

Two words. It was two simple words. And yet, she kept replaying them over and over. She brushed her nose against the tickle of the rain threatening to drip from the end, but the feeling returned as more rain took its place, and she huffed in irritation. There had been more emotion in those two words, and on his face when he murmured them, then she’d seen in him yet – more even than when she’d mussed his armor. She’d sensed his anxiety long before fully waking the night before, had smelled it rolling off of him in waves, and had seen the pain in his features through the haze of sleep when she’d first opened her eyes.

But it had been the whisper of her name on his lips that had roused her fully from the fog cloying at her mind. His response to her voice had told her he hadn’t even realized he’d said anything out loud, and she had had to force herself to not call him out on his blatantly false assurances; had to force herself to say nothing as he lied to her about being ‘fine’. But the distress, and despondency, that she’d seen in his features… that was a truth he couldn’t hide except behind his hands, and it had told her more than he would have, she was sure.

 _What do you say to that?_ She wondered. _How do you just ask about such private, whispered words? Especially when he’s made his feelings rather clear._ She scowled, thinking about their travel together, and of the last weeks… and of his disappearance after saving her months ago. _‘You know nothing of me, whelp.’_ His words lilted unbidden through her mind, chasing after her thoughts as she chewed her lip, and she was thankful that he couldn’t see her face as she squelched through the mud slightly ahead of him. _Ugh,_ what she wouldn't give for her horse just then. She knew it was safer to leave them behind, especially since the path that Vilkas had indicated led to the fort was nearly washed out, but she slid more times than was dignified in the slick muck. _Damnit._ She sighed heavily, the breath turning into a gasp when her stomach clenched suddenly; a shift in the wind brought the tang of fresh blood along with the clang of clashing steel, and she stopped in her tracks, raising her head to the storm and pulling her hood back to allow the wind to answer her questions.

The storm drove the rain at her, whipping her hair around her face, and she winced, blinking fervently against the sting of the little droplets splattering against her skin. Vilkas must have had his head down against the rain, like she had, since he collided with her back the next moment. “What are yo-” His words clipped short, and she felt a tug on her hair as he sputtered slightly before his hand clamped down on it over the back of her neck. “Damnit,” he grumbled under his breath at her, but his tone became serious upon assessing her manner, “what is it?”

“Ahead… blood, and fighting,” she said quietly. They were close enough to the fort that she could see the shattered barricades, as well as the muted forms of two fallen Forsworn sentries just below the stone archway. _Someone has started our job for us_ , she thought, suddenly angry at the idea that information she might need could be destroyed.

Vilkas’ hand settled on her hip as he straightened to his full height behind her, and she was torn between the irritation that he was pulling her slightly behind him – _again!_ – and the heat of her wolf responding to the scent of the blood. She ignored the altogether _different_ heat in her belly that his hand on her hip inspired.

“Sounds like we have company,” he said quietly, and she felt a tremor race down her spine. It seemed his wolf was also eager at the prospect of action, though she knew better than to think he’d let it out, and she nodded in acknowledgement as she unclipped her bow. She stifled a curse when his arm wound around her middle and pulled her back to him before she could step away. “We have only each other out here,” his accent seemed unusually sharp as his chest rumbled against her with his words, “so don’t wander off alone. Try to keep me in sight.” Ara swallowed hard, unsure what to make of his instruction. On the one hand, his words were dismissive as ever, and yet they were… different. She couldn’t put her finger on it.

“I’ve done this before, Vilkas,” she panted, trying to prize herself loose from his grip. His low growl told some part of her that her answer was unsatisfactory, but he nonetheless released her, and she winced in relief as the pressure on her ribs eased.

“Agh, I should have let the trolls eat you,” he carped at her under his breath, stalking past the shattered barricades and leaving her to pick off the bandits that appeared the parapet of the keep above them without a second glance back. She didn’t know whether he just hadn’t seen them or had simply trusted her to take care of them, and she wasn’t sure which option unsettled her more.

~~**~~

“Well that was... fun,” Ara whined to herself, pulling her hood down further over her face when the wind threatened to tear it back. She dislodged her arrow from the soft neck tissues of the Forsworn it was embedded in, pushing aside the body of a bandit that had fallen over him.

The bandits and Forsworn had each served as a good distraction for the other, allowing her and Vilkas to push into the fray with relatively little resistance, and between his sword and her bow it was far too late for either group when their presence was finally realized.

She had done as he bade, keeping him in sight – mostly – and a good thing for it too, as her arrows had served to cover his ass several times. It was after the first time, though, when she’d seen him caught almost completely unawares by a bandit, that she’d realized something was wrong; he was aloof, distracted. And dangerously so.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, and she glanced up to see him leaning against the stone wall of the courtyard, a small smirk playing at his lips instead of the typical scowl. She frowned. It couldn’t be coincidence; her thoughts summoned him, she was sure of it. “Did I miss something funny?” She quirked an eyebrow as she wiped the gore from her arrow and slid it into her quiver, frustrated at his sudden change in demeanor.

Truthfully, their task had been much more than she expected, given the elements and the added opponent of the bandits, and she was exhausted, if she was honest. Her wolf’s rather giddy anticipation had also been left unfulfilled, leaving her more restless than before, and she was in no mood for Vilkas to be anything but his normal, broody self as a result.

She wasn’t really surprised when he didn’t answer her, what with his smug aura and smirk, but she did note that he seemed uncharacteristically placid as he stood and watched her. He was covered in blood, some of it his own, but his confident, calm façade would never have alluded to him being wounded; he was too proud for that. She didn’t bother offering to close his wounds either, as she knew he was too proud to accept that too. “You did well.” His words startled her, even though she was looking right at him as he said them, which only drew his smirk out further.

 _I’m sorry, what?_ She eyed him suspiciously for a moment. “I… thanks,” she nodded only slightly, feeling a flush rise in her cheeks and her wolf preen within her at his compliment; but the moment was fleeting, and his features finally melted back into impassivity.

“Mm.” The simple grunt was his response to her thanks as he pushed from the wall with a sigh. “We have two options now,” he said, wincing slightly as he stepped from the shelter of an overhang and back into the storm. “We have hours before dark, so we can… what are you doing?”

She ignored his question as she squatted next to the dead Forsworn and rolled him over; her deft fingers probed for the unseen pockets she knew his armor would contain, and she was dispirited to find only a few coins and other small trinkets. “Damnit,” she cursed under her breath, dismissing the body and rising to face another gust of wind. _Okay, maybe not that one, but one of them has to have something._

She checked the next nearest Forsworn in the same manner. And the next. And the next. _Oops, bandit._ She pocketed a ring that had the telltale hum of an enchantment but otherwise left the body where it lay as she moved on to the next Forsworn. But she found nothing, ultimately; just trinkets and meager amounts of coin. _Well, shit._ She bit the inside of her lip in frustration; she had truly thought there would be some indication of a hag on one of them. But she’d been wrong, apparently, and the sting of unshed tears only served to make the disappointment worse as she pushed the body away angrily.

“Ara?” She jolted as Vilkas touched her shoulder. “What’s wron-” he cleared his throat as he glanced from her to her bloodied hands, and then to the Forsworn. “What was that about?”

“I was looking for something to indicate where their matriarch might be,” she said dejectedly. There was no use lying, especially when it seemed there was no evidence to be had, and she sighed as she glanced about. A door leading into the keep was slightly ajar, and she nodded to it, watching the spark of understanding light in Vilkas’ eyes when he followed her gaze. Even if they didn’t stay at the fort for the night, she wanted out of the rain for a moment.

  

* * *

 

 _Fuck. You sonofa-_ A fine mist of warmth sprayed onto Vilkas’ face as his sword bit into the Forsworn in front of him - repayment for the slice to his arm. But he had little time to care as another Forsworn lunged for him, identical jagged swords slicing through the air. _Damnit_ , he slid on the stone, now slick with blood, as he turned and twisted away from the dual blades, waiting for his opening and trying to avoid being caught by the crude-looking weapons. _Leave it to the Forsworn to interrupt a moment of peace_ , he thought bitterly. But he also silently admonished himself; he knew better than to let his guard down before making sure all enemies were dispatched, but he’d done it anyway as they’d entered the fort’s muster to rest.

He heard Ara’s distinct cry from somewhere behind him, nearly drowned out amidst the shouts and curses of the Forsworn.  _We're not even in the Reach you moron,_ he silently criticized whichever madman had shouted the idiotic phrase, managing a quick glance for Ara as he parried the next thrust of the Reaver. She was still on her feet, blade in hand, and was doing a decent job of holding off the Forsworn around her, but her movements were slow and he could see her eyes were unfocused; the gash in her side told him why.

The second sword glanced off his pauldron, drawing his attention firmly back to the Forsworn woman, and he ignored the slice into his own side as he thrust his sword forward and up, lodging it between her ribs.

“Bring me the witch!” A gravelly voice seemed to resonate through the very air, causing the Forsworn around them to still momentarily, and he used it to kick the Forsworn off of his blade. His wolf growled lowly, pushing insistently against the back of his mind, but not hard enough to break through, and he felt tension build beneath his consciousness. He wasn’t sure what his wolf was sensing - yet - but opted not to push it away as he lunged for a Forsworn near Ara.

His sword cut easily into the exposed back of the man, crumpling him to the floor, but no sooner than he’d dropped, another took his place, and Vilkas could hear yet more rushing footsteps in the corridor. _Fuck, how many are there?_ “Ara, go!” He saw her stumble towards the door, holding her side as blood seeped between her fingers. _Why isn’t she healing herself?_ He didn’t stop to consider his anger over her _not_ using her magic for once, parrying the swing of the axe aimed for him, and he ignored another light glance to his arm when his wolf snarled within him; a sharp crack of lightning made his ears ring, and he was nearly deaf to Ara’s cry as he saw her crumble to the floor.

Two more Forsworn rushed into the room, their intent clear as they grasped Ara’s arms and began to drag her towards the door, and his wolf howled angrily in his mind. He couldn’t shift, even he wasn’t quick enough to transform fully before they cut him down, but he could do the next best thing.

His bloodlust thrummed, dulling his pain as his sword cleaved through muscle and tendon and bone. _Eorlund isn’t going to be happy_ , he spared a thought for his blade as it sank into the side of a Forsworn’s neck, but it was gone the next instant as a pained cry brought him back to his task. He spun, throwing a Forsworn backwards and catching sight of Ara and the two Forsworn that had grabbed her.

Her mouth was fixed firmly to one of her assailant’s necks, and he heard the feral growl beneath the Forsworn’s anguish as the man’s blood brought her wolf forward and replenished her strength; she threw the other off of her arm without breaking her hold of the first and he felt relief shudder through him. _Good girl_ , he mused briefly, but his wolf snarled a warning and he turned his senses to it, hearing yet more Forsworn filtering in through the lower level of the muster. _Shor’s bones, more?!_

He heard the hiss of a sword arcing through the air towards him, but it was a clumsy attempt and left only a shallow nick in his armor as he brought his sword around and down, and the sweet, coppery tang of fresh blood hit his face as he rendered the man’s arm useless before ending his life.

“Ara! The stairwell!” He saw Ara still, her head snapping up to him, and he jutted his chin towards the stairs as he cut down the Forsworn she’d thrown from her arm. “Can you do like you did with the trolls?” He growled at her look of bewilderment, pushing her aside as he himself danced backwards to avoid the cleave of an axe. 

 _Gods, their like rats! They just keep-_ An explosion derailed his thoughts and knocked him off balance, but he twisted around in time to see the Forsworn that took the brunt of her rune fall back down into the stairwell in a flurry of flame. Infuriatingly, two more rushed forward, taking Ara by surprise; one landed a solid hit to her temple and she crumbled to the ground, out cold.

The odd scent of death and magic hit him as he tried to rush to her, but he saw a twisted, bulky mass of burned flesh clambering back up the stairwell. His eyes immediately homed in on the gaping hole in the man’s chest, and the thorned flower that sat where his heart ought to have been. Vilkas knew that flower was what gave him not only the ability to survive Ara’s rune, but also his title and status among his brethren.  _Damn it all to Oblivion_ , he grumbled, hissing as his blood pounded relentlessly against his mind.

“You heard the matriarch!” The briarheart bellowed at the Forsworn, and they scrambled to hoist Ara’s limp body. _No!_ Vilkas snarled, surging forward, expecting full-well for the briarheart to impede him. _Damnit._ He ignored the strike to his ribs, focusing his attention on the Forsworn leader’s own exposed midriff, and growling in satisfaction when his sword easily sank through the burned flesh and elicited a pained cry from the burly man.

The groan of the door gave him pause, only long enough to register the other two Forsworn had removed Ara from the muster, before a bright swirl of light drew his attention back to the brairheart; the man knew healing magic. _Shit._ He’d have to be quick.

 

* * *

 

The hag sliced through Ara’s cuirass and into her shoulder, white-hot pain rousing her from unconsciousness as it followed along behind the dagger’s edge.

Ara twisted around out of reflex as she screamed, feeling the bones in her hand crack as it met with the bony visage of the hagraven, and likewise sending the hag careening backward. The hag clearly wasn’t used to being attacked in such a manner, and Ara used the surprise to scramble to her feet. She felt drained, despite the blood of the Forsworn, and she fervently glanced about, looking for something, _anything_ , she could use to her advantage.

The hagraven clambered awkwardly back to her feet, beady eyes flashing as she glared and a flare of flame ignited in her talons. Ara took an involuntary step backward, realizing too late there was a body laying prone behind her; she fell haphazardly, her back landing hard against a bulbous form behind her, but she immediately recognized the soft warmth that the object elicited in her body.

 _Come to me, Kynareth_ , she fell to the side and tried to hug herself to the shrine as she glared at the hag and the flames she was coiling slowly; she was taunting her. _For without you, I might not know the mysteries of the world._ A gentle hum started in the back of her mind as her fingers began to tingle and warmth erupted through her body.

“No! The shrine is profaned!” The hag’s shrill cry nearly shattered her concentration, but Ara managed a sigh of relief as purple energies began to swirl around her body.

“And so blind and in terror ...” she threw her hand up as the hag let her fireball fly, but immediately sensed she hadn’t been quick enough; while her torso and head were protected by her shield, she could do nothing but scream as her legs burned beneath the blast. She'd forgotten the pain of a hag's magic. “... I might consume and profane the abundance of your beautiful treasures!” She cried the last of the prayer, gasping as the purple energies flared and surged into her, invigorating her spent spirit and extending the shield she pushed forward.

The hag’s next fireball was accompanied by a spike of ice, and she heard a surprised cry as her magic deflected and redirected it, errantly, into a Forsworn that had appeared. And that’s when she saw the stairs.

She pushed to her knees, nearly blind through the pain of her burns, and dove for the stone stairway, catapulting herself down them as another fireball exploded onto the wall behind her. The second Forsworn was only a hazy recollection in the back of her mind, until she careened into her and they crumpled to the ground at the bottom of the steps. She used the woman’s surprised stupor to wrench the sword from her hand.

If the sword cut across the woman’s throat didn’t kill her, the hag’s next fireball surely did, and Ara was thrown backward by the same explosion she’d managed to avoid a direct hit from. The world tilted dangerously as she willed her mind to clear beneath the fire and smoke and pounding. _Wait. Pounding?_ She stilled, only peripherally aware of the hagraven shuffling slowly down the steps after her and shuddering as another deep thud sounded from the room above. _Vilkas._

“Your spirit is strong, little witch!” The hag’s gravelly voice echoed in the near barren basement room. “But I will still have you!”

She felt her pulse quicken, hatred filling her heart as Vilkas’ continued to try and break the door down, and she rose to face the vile creature she so abhorred. “I am _not_ a witch!” A thick crack and loud thud, followed closely by a pained grunt, reverberated somewhere above her and momentarily startled both her and the hagraven. _Vilkas_. She needed time. “I am nothing like you!”

The hag screeched at her, throwing terrible flames forward again, but Ara did not turn away. She exhaled tightly as she threw her arm before her face again and her magic drew around her; she felt the heat of the blast on her skin, the ends of her hair burning even as her magic parted the hag’s around her, but she pushed forward. The font of flame stopped when she got close, and the hag swung her taloned nails forward in a feral, but rather inept, attack. Ara willed herself not to scream as she let them cut into her.

The hag’s skin was clammy beneath her fingers as she grabbed the crone’s bony frame and yanked, thrusting her stolen blade forward at the same time. Her wolf growled in satisfaction in the back of her mind as the sword bit in with a pop and the hag gave a curdled cry. Her vile magic immediately began to dissipate around them, and Ara finally cried out through clenched teeth as the hag’s hand flexed and twitched with pain, causing the talons to sink deeper into her flesh.

“Are you not?” The hag’s rasp was accompanied by a grotesque smile as Ara’s face contorted in hatred. She twisted her talons again, seemingly pleased by the fresh vehemence that rose in Ara’s eyes along with the renewed pain in her shoulder.

“Where are your Glenmoril sisters?” Ara resisted the urge to twist the sword and be done with the hag, very nearly wishing she had just ignored Hircine’s offer and walked away that night. _Not that he would have let me_ , she thought bitterly. Something akin to recognition flashed in the hagraven’s depthless eyes, but she said nothing, and Ara felt her fury rise.

“If you will not tell me, you will join them,” she hissed, twisting the blade within the hag’s thin frame, “and I will take from you what you have taken from so many others!” The crone’s sneer fell away as disbelief, and fear, overtook her features, and Ara could only wonder if maybe she _was_ like the hag after all as a cruel satisfaction bubbled in her stomach.

Ara felt the hag’s shallow heartbeat beneath the hand on her frame as her spirit felt its way forward, drawing the dispersing magic into herself, and she considered it rather fitting that one of the hag’s own had provided the blade that would see her magic undone. The blade was not the same quality as hers – wherever it was – but the hag’s waif-like frame would make up for what the sword lacked. She withdrew it with a squelch, and the hag’s resulting shallow gurgle stopped abruptly as the blade severed the seat of her magic from the rest of her body.

Her vision swam beneath the onslaught of the hag’s magic twining with her own, and she felt her spirit recoil as the dark purposes for which it was used fought against her will for it. “I am not like you,” she whispered, feeling the hag’s dark binds on the magic break, and the world tilted dangerously again as her spirit sought an outlet for the influx of power.

She was peripherally aware of Vilkas’ muted form stumbling down the steps he’d perched on as the room finally shifted too far and her body crumpled beneath what she had done. “Ara!” He was in front of her, scooping her up. “Are yo-”

 

* * *

 

Ara’s eyes were unfocused as she blinked back at him, and his stomach dropped further as he saw her face pale. His ears rang beneath the insistence of his blood, and his shoulder was all but useless from breaking down the door, but he cradled her to him anyway. “Ara!” His wolf growled a warning before easing back of its own accord, allowing the haze of his vision to clear.

He saw her shoulder and side, her armor, her _legs_ , and he felt a stab of fear-laced guilt. Guilt that she’d had to face the hag on her own, tempered with the fear of what he’d seen in her features; the cruel malice she’d exhibited as she gave the hag her deadly ultimatum. _Later_ , he promised himself. Right now, he needed to be sure there _was_ going to be a later, since he had no idea what it was that had happened upon the hag’s death. “Are yo-”

Ara convulsed, gripping his arms with strength he wouldn’t have thought her capable of just then, and he saw her eyes fix to him. Her pupils were blown wide as her hair started to drift languidly about her face, and he had barely enough time to feel his wolf growl lightly before a searing heat cascaded into him from her hands.

His first reaction was that she was burning him, but a sharp crack and torrid pain in his shoulder, followed by soothing, warm relief, made him realize otherwise, and it was all he could do to keep his mind lucid as the sensation was repeated throughout the whole of his body. Everything in him seemed to oscillate between pain and relief, and he absently noted that she outwardly appeared to be faring the same. Her hands clenched and released him repeatedly, almost as if she wasn’t in control of what was happening, a disturbing contrast to the last time he’d been subject to her magic. It was a sobering thought.

A throb in his temple was followed closely by his eye going blind, which was slightly disconcerting; the briarheart had been a right pain in the ass, and the hit to his head was only one of several that the large man had landed. Thankfully, his vision slowly returned as the warmth of the magic eased away the ill, but his wolf snarled in frustration. His mind was turbulent with the pent-up aggression and anxiety of his blood; having been so close to release, only to be denied… it was not pleased. But it did no more than simmer, just below his consciousness, and Vilkas got the sense his blood remembered her abilities, and moreover, was unwilling to test her further. The idea was cowing and infuriating in equal measure but was ultimately also something he was unwilling to let himself dwell on – yet.

It could have been moments, or it could have been hours, that he sat there, riding out the consequences of Ara’s struggle with the hag, Vilkas didn’t really know. As it was, he wasn’t sure he cared either, because, beyond the cycles of pain and relief in his body, he was finding it difficult to reconcile what he had seen with what he thought he had known of her.

Her pride and willful nature were nothing next to the wrath she had exhibited, and as her magic ebbed and faded away and she slumped against him in exhaustion, the depth of the realization that he really knew nothing of her finally hit home.

“Ara?” He brushed errant hair back from where it had fallen in her face; she looked as exhausted as he felt. A sheen of sweat covered her brow, and the spark he normally saw in her eyes was absent as she stared blankly beyond him. “Are you alright?”

She started, as if having forgotten, or perhaps not even realized, she was in his arms. “Vilkas.” She sounded relieved at first, but the cautious optimism he felt in his chest was quickly doused when her face paled further, and he caught the scent of anxiety – hers. “I’m sorry,” her voice was soft as shame filled her features and she pushed against him, trying to extricate herself from his grip.

His mind reeled with energy he wasn’t aware he even still possessed as he tried to figure out what was happening, and why. “Ara, wai-,” he was too surprised to keep hold of her, and she backed away, climbing slowly to her feet so as to turn from him.

His wolf growled in the back of his mind; its ire was now directed at both of them. Him for letting her go so easily, and her for not even listening. He pushed himself to his feet. Her back was to him, but he reached for her and tried again. “You ha-”

“Just stop, okay?” Her hiss was a whisper as she recoiled further, a familiar obstinacy flashing in her eyes. “I already know I messed up, I’m sorry! Just… I didn’t mean for you to get caught in it.”

He ignored her plea and followed her, his stomach twisting at her guarded expression as he reached for her again. He didn’t think she was afraid exactly, but... The cold, dead weight of realization quickly replaced the anxiety in the pit of his stomach. _By Ysmir… of course_ , he admonished himself inwardly. _You’ve done nothing but rebuke her, and her magic. You’ve done nothing but push your own reservations in her face. No wonder she’s expecting you to be angry._

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he dropped his hand away, but didn’t move back.

She scoffed. “Hardly,” she bit her lip, dropping her eyes away from him and to the body on the floor. “Clearly you were right about me.”

 _What?_ He couldn’t keep his confusion from showing on his face. “I _asked_ you to use magic, did I not?” Her eyes snapped back to him, confirming that’s what she’d expected him to be angry about, though her expression remained guarded. “And you bested a damned hagraven,” he gestured towards the body, “so clearly I wasn’t.” Her guarded expression cracked, only marginally, but he felt safe to continue. “Look, there are…” he ran a hand through his hair, sighing heavily as he glanced at the hag’s body again. _Not here, Vil._ “Let’s just get our things and get out of here first, alright?” He contemplated saying more as she nodded lightly, but she beat him to it.

“Thank you for coming for me,” she murmured. “Again.” His wolf growled warmly at the memory she referenced, but he took a few moments to consider his response. The comfortable, immediate reaction to her bringing that up would have been anger, as was typical of him, and it was clear from her posture she expected that as well; her jaw set and her stance changed, almost imperceptibly.

He was all too pleased to disappoint, instead opting to brush still errant hair behind her ear. He was wholly surprised when she only stiffened beneath his ministrations, instead of moving away again. “You didn’t need me this time,” he said, taken aback further by the hint of dejection he heard in his own voice and so quickly cleared his throat. “I’m glad you’re alright.” His mouth went dry as her cheeks flushed, but he felt little elation at seemingly managing to turn the tables on her this time. He blamed it on being tired as he started for the stairs, giving the body a wide berth.

“Why did you want to find one of them anyway?” He asked absently, glancing behind him in time to see the venom return to her features.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” she said coldly. He shrugged, tired and ready to let it go, but she groaned. “Our horses are probably gone.” He stopped then too, his own groan echoing hers when he realized she was probably right. It was going to be a long walk back to Whiterun.


End file.
